


Fragile

by artsypolarbear



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, Lexa Lives, Romance, it gets cute once they find each other i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9236675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsypolarbear/pseuds/artsypolarbear
Summary: in which Lexa never died, but Clarke thinks she did.they will be with each other, eventually.but first, they have to find one another. and then? then, it'll be their 'some day'.





	1. Chapter 1

It began with the twitch of a toe. Just a little twitch, a movement so quick that none of the two women sitting by the bed noticed. A fire flickered in the fireplace, the shadows cast by the flames dancing along the walls and the items in the small room, hiding any further fleeting movements from an untrained eye.

The body on the bed was just barely distinguishable from a corpse. At first, her chest had barely risen at all when she breathed, and her skin had been as cold and pale as the skin of the bodies hidden deep in the vaults below. But her breathing had become more prominent, her skin had slowly regained some color, and now, a day after she’d been brought in, she was beginning to wake up.

The only sound aside from the crackle of the fire was the clink and clatter of the elder woman’s knitting. The other, a young girl of barely ten summers, sat on a stool by her, her hands holding the spool of yarn up for the woman and slowly unravelling more. Never did the yarns cross, never tangled – two yellows, one green, four blue, one white, and then all over again. It was a simple pattern, traditional, ancient even, one which the woman knew by heart. The girl was yet to learn it. But she would, with time – and time was all they had.

Endless amounts of time.

What began as a twitch of a toe soon travelled up. A finger, then two, crooked, moved, touched the furs, then fell limp again. A heavier sigh escaped the dry, cracked lips, loud enough to carry over the sounds of the fire and the needles.

The woman heard the sigh, and beckoned the child to go closer.

“Give her water,” she murmured.

The child obliged, pouring just barely a trickle water from a jar into a low hand-cup, placing the sharpened nozzle of it in between the lips of the woman laying on the bed. Her hair was braided neatly to prevent it from tangling, little rings of steel keeping the ends of the braids from unravelling. Though she was covered head-to-toe in furs, she was shivering, and on her forehead there was a light sheen of sweat.

The child poured only a little water to her, careful not to spill any, and then wiped her brow with a wet cloth.

“How’s she looking?”

“I don’t know, Sister,” the child murmured.

“She living?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Good.”

The child gave the woman on the bed one last look before setting the cloth down. She was on her way back to the fire, when a whimper drew both their attentions.

“She’s waking,” the old woman said quickly. “Fetch the Lady, child.”

As the girl scrambled out of the room and down the hall, the woman clambered her way to the bedside.

“Poor child,” she murmured as she eyed her patient, who was growing increasingly distressed in her bed. “It’s the waking that’s always the hardest.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s lungs were on fire. Literal, burning, blinding white pain, pain so great she couldn’t draw a breath – she gasped for it, but the air felt like it was tipped with acid, burning her even more, numbing her tongue and making her throat hoarse and bloody. It was suddenly so hot that she threw the furs off of herself, wanting to be cooled, needing fresh air, air that wasn’t tainted – the taste in her mouth was that of iron and blood, of vomit and something she couldn’t quite decipher – blackroot, perhaps, though why she could taste it, she couldn’t even guess. She tried to speak, beg, plead for anyone able to hear her to let her leave, take her somewhere where she could breathe fresh air, but to no avail.

To her, it felt like death, though it really was the exact opposite.

Everything was going black. She could hear distant yelling, groaning, whining – she wasn’t sure if it was she herself or the fuzzy figures in her field of vision, but she didn’t care. She just wanted it to stop. Her head felt like it was about to burst, and her lungs – she simply couldn’t breathe. At first she had drawn in breaths so deep it had felt like she was drowning, and now, all of a sudden, she couldn’t do it anymore.

She felt herself be flipped over in the bed, strong hands pressing her shoulders into the bed as another pair of hands, slender and gentle, counted something off her back.

There was a hard hit to a spot on her back right below her shoulder blades, and air returned to her lungs in one exasperating rush. Another hit, and the burning sensation ceased – a third, this time gentler, returned Lexa to a state where she found herself laying on a bed, coughing, breathing so heavily she spent a long while focused only on that.

There were voices around her, dizzying in their number, and she tried to decipher who they were despite the fact that her head and her body were aching with pain and she was yet to even regain full consciousness. She was turned back to lay on her back, and the gentle hands raised her head to help something down her throat.

“Drink, girl,” a croaking voice said. “It’ll return you to the living.”

It tasted vile but Lexa wasn’t allowed to spit it out. She swallowed, gagging almost immediately, but a hand clamped over her mouth prevented her from spitting out what had come up from her stomach. She was forced to swallow, forced to taste it yet again, and she wanted to hit whoever was forcing her to do this.

She tried to, really did, but her arm barely lifted an inch off of the bed. Even that slight movement caused pain so blinding that for a moment Lexa wasn’t aware of anything else, and a few tears escaped the corner of her eye, the hot tears mixing with the beads of sweat covering her skin.

“Lexa, please,” a voice said - a voice so familiar Lexa had shivers run down her spine, a voice so dearly missed that Lexa’s heart ached, despite her not quite recognizing it. She might not have known the voice, but her heart surely did.

“You’ll be okay,” the voice repeated as Lexa phased out of consciousness. “You’ll be okay, Lexa.”

And then, everything went dark again.

 

* * *

 

Two figures stood by Lexa’s bed, quietly watching over her sleep. It was dark in the room, and cool – the fire had been snuffed out, and due to a lack of windows, the room was almost pitch black. One slender candle, resting by the bed, provided a small halo of light, illuminating the faces of the two persons, both of whose eyes were fixed on the sleeping figure in the bed.

One of them was a man, clad in robes, with a tattooed bald head – Titus, anyone would’ve known him simply from his tattoos, and hence he only wore his hood down in the room when he was sure none could see.

The girl, young, not much younger than Lexa, spoke quietly. “I don’t see why you came. You risked being seen, rushing here – the whole point of this was to hide her away-“

“She’ll be alright?”

The young woman looked taken aback by Titus’s blatant disregard for what she’d been about to say. She frowned, mouth slightly ajar, and glared at him.

“She’ll be fine,” she muttered. “I know she will.”

“Is this the truth, or what you want to believe?”

Any normal person would’ve cowered in the face of the woman’s glare.

But not Titus. No, he only scoffed, and added: “You think your wit can get you anywhere.”

“It has.”

“One day, it won’t be enough.”

“Perhaps. But not today is not that day.”

Lexa shifted in her bed, whimpered, and for a moment, appeared to be waking. Both Titus and his companion silenced and watched the brunette, quietly, patiently – tensely, even.

When a moment later Lexa let out a sigh and relaxed again, they, too, relaxed.

“You’re not leaving now,” the woman stated. “You’ll attract attention. Use the tunnels tomorrow afternoon. Say you were maddened with grief and guilt and simply had to flee.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Turn yourself in, of course.”

The woman’s tone of voice was light. She did not care that this would mean Titus’s death.

“Fair enough,” Titus replied dryly. “I’ll take my leave now, lady Costia, if you please.”

Costia did not even look at him. No, she wandered over to Lexa’s bedside, her eyes never leaving the brunette, and sat down in a chair set out specifically for her.

“Close the door on your way out, Titus,” she said, still not looking at him. “We don’t want her getting too cold, even if the healers say she needs cool air now.”

Her hand reached for Lexa’s, and, gently as she could, wrapped around it. The skin of Lexa's hand was clammy and hot, her whole body was overrun by fever, and Costia gently stroked Lexa's hand to try and alleviate her distress.

“You’ll be fine,” she said softly, “I’m here.”

Lexa was out cold, drifting from dream to dream, none of which were in any way coherent. One moment, she was kissing Clarke, her stomach warm and flipping, her limbs going limp from sheer exhaustion as she lay in her bed with the blonde on top of her; the next, she was laying on the floor, coughing up blood, Clarke’s hands desperately trying to stop the bleeding…and failing.

And then, a third dream, in which Lexa found herself standing in the woods. She felt light, the entire dream felt soft and hazy, and somewhere, in the distance, there was a girl. Laughing, giggling, and beckoning for her to come closer.

Dazed, Lexa took a step or two towards the girl, but the girl seemed to remain exactly the same distance away from her. She walked, and the girl did too; she ran, and so did the girl.

“Wait!” Lexa cried, trying to keep up, the girl’s laughter echoing in the woods and in her mind, “You don’t have to run!”

The girl seemed to slow down, and Lexa picked up her own pace to catch up. She was facing away from her, standing directly in front of a blaring ray of light, so bright that Lexa could only see a faint silhouette of the girl – unruly hair, slender arms, wide hips – but nothing more.

And yet, there was something familiar.

She’d almost reached the girl when suddenly she disappeared, along with the light. The woods grew dark, a deep dark blue, and a wind picked up almost instantly.

“Wha-“

“You’ll be fine, Lexa,” a voice – the girl’s voice – said, echoing in the hills. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

It felt ethereal, as though it were coming from everywhere at once, and Lexa couldn’t help but be frustrated.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“You will,” the voice said – it sounded to Lexa as though she were smiling. “And you have, before.”

“I know you…” Lexa stammered. “I think I- I know I do, I just-“

She let her voice fade away, stolen by the wind, but no answer followed. It was dark, cool, and the wind rustled in the bare trees. Lexa could’ve sworn that they’d had leaves when it’d been light. Now, it was just uninviting - the whole forest felt like it was trying to push her away, scare her into running away - but to where, that she didn't know.

And then she wasn’t asleep anymore; she was laying in a bed, her head felt floaty, and her eyelids felt very heavy. There was something cool on her forehead, a bandage around her stomach, and a hand in her own. A slender hand, bony, not Clarke’s – Lexa wasn’t sure why that was the first thought that came into her mind, but she instantly knew the hand wasn’t Clarke’s.

_Who is holding my hand?_

She couldn’t get her eyes to open. She felt sleepy, comfortable beneath the heavy furs, tucked in safe and warm away from all harm.

“Has there been any change in her condition?”

_Titus?_

“She’ll wake.”

The voice that answered Titus was the voice from Lexa’s dream.

“You should leave,” the voice continued. “Before they notice you’ve disappeared.”

A thumb brushed over the back of Lexa’s hand, a comforting gesture, one which Lexa was not accustomed to. The voice was so familiar, so close, and yet, she couldn’t figure it out.

Lexa heard Titus sigh.

“Costia-“

“ _Lady_ Costia,” the voice corrected him.

_No, it can’t be._

Lexa’s eyes burst open. Though it was relatively light in the room, it still took her a while to regain her eyesight. When she did, she gasped.

Costia’s and Titus’s attentions were instantly drawn back to her, and Lexa’s eyes widened even more. There, sat next to her, was Costia – alive and well, unscathed, breathing, living… and she couldn’t believe it.

“I-“ she croaked, but her throat was dry.

“Shh, don’t speak,” Costia said gently. “Get her some water, Titus.”

But Lexa wasn’t going to wait for the water. She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Costia’s face, and asked, tentatively as ever:

“C-Cos?”

She prayed she wasn’t wrong.

“It’s me, Lexa,” Costia smiled, leaning in a little closer. “It’s me.”

“H-how? How?”

Titus returned with the water, and Costia held up a cup to Lexa, allowing her to drink.

“There we go…there’s no rush, Lexa.”

Lexa wasn’t sure what to feel. She looked at Titus, as though to check whether he could see her too – but he could, he saw her just as she did, and it all just didn’t make sense.

“But you-you were dead,” Lexa stammered. “Your head, I-“

“It wasn’t me, Lexa,” Costia reassured. Her thumb stroked the back of Lexa’s hand, and a wave of warmth erupted in Lexa’s gut from that simple yet comforting gesture. It was so natural, so simple, something she’d missed for so many years – but it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her.

“No, but, your head-piece- the one I gave you, it was on the-the-“

“It wasn’t me, Lexa,” Costia repeated. “It wasn’t my head. I’m here. I’m alive. My head’s still in place.”

Lexa felt like she was going to faint from how overwhelmed she was.

“I think I’m going to get a headache.”

“That’s probably your illness.”

Lexa got another cup of water, and drank it eagerly before continuing her questions. She had many, and needed the answers right away.

“How did you- escape?”

It took a while for her to remember the right word. It was as though her mind were clouded over, shrouded in mist, and every task, every word, was almost too great a challenge.

“Nia…she got us mixed up. She ordered my traveling party to be raided, and we were, but my handmaiden…she was in my tent when they came. I wasn’t. She was trying on my clothes, the poor fool, and they mistook her for me- she was even wearing all my jewelry.”

“So you-?”

“I escaped into the woods. Got lost, travelled- crossed the desert. Alone.”

“Why didn’t…” Lexa sighed, a wave of nausea and pain running over her and forcing her to take a few deep breaths. Costia, however, knew what her question was, and finished for her.

“Why didn’t I come to you?”

Lexa shrugged and looked away.

“I didn’t escape unscathed,” Costia said quietly. “I- I was very hurt. I wandered the woods and got lost, and then was taken in by a tribe – the Shades, in the far West. They healed me, but it took a long time – I’d been in the woods alone so long that I’d lost myself, my memories, everything…”

She took a deep breath and wiped away a few tears.

“I came back here, and I did mean to – I was going to see you. But I- I was afraid, Lexa…it had been years. You’d…you’d transformed. You’ve grown up so much, and you’ve created so much…I didn’t want to mess anything up.”

“But I thought you were dead.”

Lexa’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper – for the first time, Costia noticed the slight tears in Lexa’s eyes, and saw how upset she was.

“Oh, Lexa…I thought you’d be better off-”

“Costia, I thought you were _dead_. Didn’t you even care?”

“I’ve been working behind the scenes,” Costia said quickly. “I’ve watched you, made sure you were alright - I’ve helped you.”

“How?”

“I hear whispers. I tell people to be in the right places in the right time. I send out anonymous messages. And sometimes I kill assassins who try to sneak through my tunnels to get to you-”

Lexa yawned, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. “Tunnels?”

“You showed them to me, Lex- the tunnels under Polis. But they’re so much more than that. They’re everywhere, and where they end, I’ve dug new ones.”

“Why?”

Costia sighed and laid a hand over Lexa’s. “There are secrets to everything, Lexa. This- this is my life now. I’ll explain it one day.”

“Why-?” Lexa mumbled, furiously trying to keep her eyes open. “Where-“

“Have a drink,” Costia said, bringing the cup back to her lips. “We’ll talk more later.”

Lexa drank the sweet-tasting water and smiled at Costia. She couldn't quite believe that she was there, that Costia was there with her - it had to be some form of heaven, had to be, there was no other explanation.

 _I'm dead_ , she thought, _and she's here._

Warmth spread through her at the thought, making every inch of her body feel even heavier than before, and the soft weight of sleep overcame her once again.


	2. Chapter 2

It had all just been pure chaos. All of it.

One moment, everything had been so good. So pure, so beautiful, so right – so perfect.

And god, had she been happy. For that one brief moment, that one fleeting hour, she had been truly happy – and then it had all just disappeared.

Clarke sighed and shifted a little, still unable to focus on anything in her surroundings. She could smell the smoke from the fire just a few feet behind her, but couldn’t feel it’s warmth. She could see the sunset from where she sat, leaning against a tree, but, for the first time since coming to the ground, she found no joy in it. The pink and golden masterpiece spread out on the sky meant nothing when all she wanted to see was _her._

She had been so light. She’d felt like nothing when she lifted her in her arms, when she carried her to the bed. It was as though she’d already been gone.

From the moment that gun had fired, Clarke’s heart had been cold.

It was still cold.

And her hands were still covered in her blood.

She hadn’t had time to wash them – she hadn’t even realized it, she hadn’t even been able to recognize her own hands when they had desperately tried to stop the bleeding, and now, hours later, they were still black, covered in black blood – but it didn’t matter.

She didn’t care.

It had happened so quickly. One moment, she’d been standing there, shocked – and then she’d collapsed, and then, so quickly, she’d been gone.

Clarke had checked more than once. Through her tears she hadn’t even really seen what she looked like, she couldn’t even remember whether her eyes had been open or closed, she could barely remember anything concrete at all – it had all just been pure chaos.

She didn’t even really know how she’d gotten here.

She didn’t even really know where she was.

“Clarke?”

The voice came from behind her, careful, tentative, as though fearing Clarke would break at the slightest odd sound.

Clarke just sighed. “What?”

“You should eat.”

Octavia only meant her best. Clarke knew that. But even the slightest thought of eating, of trying to be normal, felt wrong.

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s been over a day, Clarke. You have to eat.”

“I can’t,” Clarke muttered. “I- I can’t.”

Her eyes stung and she curled up, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, shivering a little in the cold. She heard footsteps behind her, and then, a warm something was spread over her shoulders – a blanket, probably, or a cape of some kind. Clarke hadn’t even realized how cold she was before the warmth engulfed her, and she glanced at Octavia with the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Thank you.”

“Promise you’ll eat something tomorrow,” Octavia replied. “I can’t keep you alive if you can’t walk.”

“Fine, I promise.”

She lied. Octavia knew she was lying, and Clarke knew that she knew – but it didn’t matter. None of it did.

She didn’t even know where they’d taken her body. All she knew that only a few hours later there was a pyre and the stench of burning flesh and people in mourning, people she didn’t know, people who had never even known Lexa by anything other than ‘the Commander’ – none of them knew her, not like Clarke did, and even Clarke hadn’t know her nearly well enough.

She wished she’d had more time. She wished she could go back, she wished she could’ve gone back to a few weeks before and told herself to spend every waking minute with her, because their time was limited and quickly running out…but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t undo what had happened.

She hadn’t known their time would be up so soon, not until it was.

The little box she’d gotten from Titus she kept hidden close to her heart, where it felt oddly warm. Clarke still didn’t know what it was, or why it had been taken out of Lexa’s neck – she didn’t know, and really, she didn’t want to know.

She half wanted to chuck the box away and forget about everything, about everyone, to sit there until she breathed no longer – but that wasn’t an option. The chip, the little thumb-sized thing, whatever it was, contained a part of Lexa. And, however small, it was the only memento Clarke had of her.

She was never giving it up.

Octavia stared at Clarke’s hunched shoulders and sighed. She couldn’t read the blonde, couldn’t figure why she was so upset – all Octavia knew was that the Commander had died, and that Clarke had been involved, and that the safest option for them had been to leave as quick as they could.

The fact that Clarke was basically nonverbal scared Octavia. She couldn’t say whether it was shock or something else, all she knew was that Clarke hadn’t eaten or slept for over a day, and only spoke when spoken to – and even then, it was touch-and-go.

Her hands were covered in something black, like ink. Octavia had no idea what it was, only that every time Clarke glanced at her own hands she flinched and looked away. She hadn’t even made an attempt to get it off.

Figuring she could do this one thing to help her, Octavia took her flask and went over, kneeling quietly in front of Clarke.

“Can I-?” she asked, pointing to Clarke’s hand. Clarke didn’t object, but in no way did she show Octavia that she wanted it either – and so, carefully as she could, Octavia pulled one of Clarke’s hands towards her, watching her reactions the entire time. When she didn’t pull away, Octavia poured some water onto a piece of cloth, and carefully as she could, began to wipe the black substance away.

Clarke watched her quietly, eye hazy and yet fixed on Octavia’s hands wiping the blood away, bit by bit, occasionally rubbing and mostly just stroking, the wet cloth cool against her skin as it washed Lexa’s blood away. Octavia went to the trouble of cleaning every speck away, even from under her nails, before moving on to her other hand. She never said a word, never looked at Clarke – had she done so, she would’ve seen tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes, and would’ve seen her lip quivering as she fought the urge to cry.

She was gone. It was real, Lexa was dead, gone, and Clarke was, once again, alone. Though Octavia was there with her, she did nothing to dispel the crushing loneliness that had set upon Clarke’s shoulders the moment she’d realized Lexa was dead.

Lexa had been the one person who had understood and accepted her without judgement. Lexa had been the one person Clarke had trusted, though not fully, but the most out of all the people she knew. Lexa had been the one Clarke had felt comfortable with.

Lexa had been the one that Clarke’s heart had found it’s home with, and now, Lexa was gone.

For that short period of time, Clarke’s heart had felt warm and alive.

Now it felt cold, heavy and icy cold, like steel.

The sun had set, and darkness crept over from the mountains quietly, without warning, so that when a moment ago it had still been hazily light, it was now pitch dark. Octavia had snuffed out the fire, and packed up the few things that they had, and before Clarke even noticed, they were ready to leave.

“Come on. Time to go.”

They only moved in the dark. It was less likely for them to be seen in the night, though it was far more dangerous to be moving – animals lurked in the woods, as did scouts from both grounders and the Arkers, but it was still less of a risk.

Octavia led, and Clarke followed, clutching the cape around her shoulders as they made their way through the woods. They were consistently getting to higher ground, and Clarke suddenly realized Octavia wasn’t leading her to Arkadia.

“Where are we going?”

Octavia didn’t answer. In truth, she hadn’t heard Clarke, being too focused on trying to navigate the land in pure darkness. The only light they had was the moon and stars overhead, but the thick canopy prevented the pale light from entering the woods, and so, they could see nothing at all.

More than once, Clarke tripped and fell. Each time, Octavia helped her up, and each time, Clarke dusted herself off without even caring that she’d hurt herself. Come morning, they would both have little cuts and bruises on their hands and knees where they’d caught their fall, but neither of them cared, and neither of them said a word about them.

When dawn did come, Clarke finally realized where they were going. She recognized the ridge further off, and the river, and knew that they were only about an hours’ walk away from the drop ship.

She briefly wondered whether it was a safe choice, but only briefly – she didn’t really care. If they were ambushed by grounders, they would be dead before they even knew they were being watched. If they were ambushed by Arkadians, they would either be shot or taken back to Arkadia.

Neither of those options were good, but Clarke didn’t think much of either of them. She was tired, she was hungry, she was sore, and all she really wanted was to sleep and never wake up.

“Come on, Griffin,” Octavia grunted, hoisting her pack higher up onto her back. “Only a little more to go.”

They stopped at the base of the ridge, and Octavia told Clarke to wait there, in hiding, while she scouted out the drop ship and it’s vicinity. Clarke did as told, crawled inside a hollowed out tree and counted her breaths, slow and steady, while she waited.

She wasn’t too far off from where the Pauna had attacked them, Lexa and her, all those months ago. Almost a year, really.

So much had happened since then.

Before Clarke even knew it, tears were stinging at her eyes, and she had to bite down on a piece of cloth to stop herself from sobbing too loud. She couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t make herself not cry – she just curled up and cried silently, the choking pain in her throat and chest almost too much for her to handle. It felt like her chest was being crushed, like her throat had an invisible chain slowly closing in around it, slowly drawing out her last breath, digging into her skin…but there was nothing.

There was no real pain, no chain, no one crushing her chest. All she had was a broken heart, but, in truth, that was the worst injury of all.

She had no closure, either. She had seen the panic and fear in Lexa’s eyes, and knew that she’d been in pain before she’d gone – she didn’t even know if she believed she’d gone anywhere. Lexa had mumbled nonsense about seeing her again, but Clarke knew that wasn’t true. Her father had said so as well, and it had done nothing to help her in the years that had followed his death.

Finn hadn’t said anything. Finn had just looked at her and understood.

Clarke dug her nails deeper into her arm to draw herself out of it. She didn’t want this pain. She didn’t want to be crying, didn’t want to be sobbing and hurting and aching for Lexa to come back when she knew she wasn’t ever coming back.

But she didn’t want it to be normal either.

She simply wanted what she couldn’t ever have.

“All’s clear,” came Octavia’s voice from outside. “Let’s go.”

Clarke crawled out of the tree trunk and hid her face from Octavia, who paid no notice.

“Why here?”

Octavia shrugged. “We can lock the doors. It’s the safest option.”

 

* * *

 

They’d arrived at the drop ship to find it completely overrun by nature. Vines grew all over the metal, clung to the broken bolts and edges, hiding it almost entirely – the doors worked, but only somewhat, and Octavia decided that they would stick to the upper floors.

“We don’t want to lock ourselves in,” she muttered, tossing the bag next to the door. She looked at Clarke, who stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall and staring out, and sighed.

“Look, Clarke – I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why you look like shit, or why you’re not talking, but it’s going to get cold, and it’d be great if you’d help me-“

Clarke shook her head to clear her head. “Sorry. Of course.”

Gathering firewood wasn’t such a daunting task, and it helped Clarke get her mind off of the events of the days before. She worked silently, not even noticing Octavia had gone off until she came back to the ship to find herself completely alone.

The sun was shining, birds were singing, and Clarke felt sick to the bottom of her stomach. She was also thirsty – she had no idea when she’d last had a drink, whether she’d had a sip of water since leaving Polis. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and her lips were so parched they almost bled just when she attempted to part them.

She went over to the bag Octavia had left on the ground near the door to look for a flask.

What she found instead, right at the top of the bag, was her sketchbook.

She sat there, staring at the book in her hands, for a good while, long enough for Octavia to come back.

“I grabbed that for you,” Octavia said, coming up from behind Clarke. “I wasn’t really thinking, I just figured you’d want it-“

Clarke nodded and set the book down. “Thank you.”

“Looking for something?”

“Water.”

Octavia handed Clarke the flask that she’d just been refilling down at the river. “D’you want to eat now?”

Clarke still felt sick, but realized she had no other choice. And so she accepted the bag from Octavia, and picked out a tiny morsel of bread and some dried meat. When she saw the disapproving look in Octavia’s eye, she took out an apple as well, though she really felt no hunger at all.

“Look, I don’t know what happened,” Octavia sighed, eyeing Clarke carefully. “But I can tell you’re upset. And I- do you want to talk about it?”

Clarke shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Does it matter if I'm not?”

Octavia saw there was no point in arguing with Clarke, and muttered something about going out to set some traps and nets to catch some food before disappearing into the woods. She figured she'd give Clarke her time.

Once alone, Clarke set down her food and took out the sketchbook instead. Her hands almost shook when she flipped through the pages for the right one, for the one image she had of Lexa – for the only image she’d ever have, so far as she was concerned.

She hated the fact that she’d never finished it. There was something clumsy about her work, she hadn’t had practice in months, and the picture was a mere ghost of it’s model. But it did hold a strong resemblance, strong enough to have Clarke choking down a sob as another set of tears welled up in her eyes.

She set the book down and stood up, feeling dizzier than she’d ever felt – the ground disappeared from beneath her feet, it felt as though she stood on nothing at all, and for a long moment, she daren’t even take a step. But then she took one, and then another – and then, she ran.

She ran without aim, without direction, she just wanted to get as far away as she could before her legs gave out and told her to stop. Branches whipped her face as she stumbled through the woods, sobbing quietly as she tried her best to avoid tripping over the branches and logs that covered the forest floor. Soon enough, her legs were burning, and her lungs ached in desperation, begging her to stop – but she didn’t, no, not until she came to a clearing, where she finally stopped, unable to go any further.

She had no idea where she was. She couldn’t recognize the woods, couldn’t even tell whether she’d gone north or south – not even the sun in the sky gave her a hint as to which direction she faced, it was hidden behind clouds and a thick fog, one which enveloped the trees and the woods completely, morphing everything into eerie likenesses of their reality.

The fog was disorienting enough. It didn’t help that Clarke was dizzy, exhausted, and starving.

She didn’t hear the approaching jeep. She didn’t realize what the dark moving figure was, not until it’s headlights hit her – and then, suddenly, someone grabbed her, yanked her to the side roughly, and her mouth was covered by a hand before she had time to let out a sound.

Her assailant dragged her backwards, not uttering a word, not stopping until they’d come a good twenty yards away from the clearing. Clarke was kicking, tried to scream, but the hand over her mouth was tight and all that came out were muffled cries, barely audible at all.

The jeep rushed past them, disappeared into the fog, and the forest fell silent again. Clarke, realizing there was no use in fighting, relaxed, deciding not to waste her strength.

She was sure she was going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's getting more interesting and it'll get more interesting next chapter, i promise
> 
> also, don't forget about the kudos and comments if you liked this shit


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> costia calls lexa fyu which i got off one of you on tumblr, basically a grounder version of 'babe' - kind of a cutesy pet name that she has for lexa

Time had slipped away. Lexa no longer knew day from night, morning from evening, midday from midnight – she did not know, and, after some time, learned not to care. In her chamber deep beneath the earth, the temperature was always the same, the light

always the same – the air, even that tasted the same. Stale and dead, as though she were living in a grave, breathing beneath the world of the living.

Costia was always there when Lexa awoke. Always. Her once soft hand, now calloused and rough, was always resting atop her own; and her eyes, golden and glowing in the creeping firelight, always watched over her with kindness and patience which Lexa hadn’t felt in a long time.

Sometimes, all she did was smile. Lexa didn’t know how Costia knew when she was well enough to talk and listen, but she never tried when there was a buzzing in Lexa’s ears.

She sometimes awoke with her head ticking with a pain she did not know, or recognize – it was a dull ache, one which made focusing a challenging feat, and one which drained her energies from even the slightest efforts that she made. It felt empty, too – something was amiss, though in her world of pains and aches, Lexa wasn’t able to pinpoint where she felt empty, or what was missing. But she knew that something was gone.

Her days were a mix of dreams and reality, muddled so effectively that she couldn’t tell which was which – sometimes she awoke in her room alone, only accompanied by her visions, and though they were hazy, she still spoke to them – to Anya, to her mother, to Titus, to Clarke, to so many people that she’d known and that she hadn’t, all hazy and ghost-like. She spoke quietly, begged for forgiveness, pleaded for them to come back, and prayed that they weren’t real, for the darkness in their eyes and the hollowness in their faces was too frightening for Lexa to bear.

Lexa never noticed that there was always someone in her room, watching her. Most times it was the old woman, and sometimes it was her apprentice, but she was never alone – there was always someone sitting on the stool by the fire, carefully watching, quietly listening to her feverish rambles and pleas.

When Costia was in the room, they were ordered to leave.

“Where-“

Lexa often asked after people who were long dead. In the beginning, she had mixed Costia up with the ghosts that stood at the foot of her bed, but, as weeks passed, she learned that she was different. Costia’s face wasn’t hollow, Costia’s hand was warm, Costia had a pulse and breaths and was alive – of all the people she had thought long dead, Costia had been the one to come back.

Clarke was often on Lexa’s mind. She was in her dreams, and in her reality, though Lexa knew she wasn’t real. She wasn’t real in the dreams that she saw, in the dreams where they smiled and laid in meadows in bright sunshine and pretended the rest of the world didn’t exist – she wasn’t real when she stood at the foot of the bed, Lexa knew that from the emptiness in the eyes that looked at her. They were the eyes of the dead, not of the living – and Clarke, Clarke was alive.

She had to be.

It was after such dreams that Lexa always asked the same question.

“Where is Clarke?”

Lexa never noticed the way Costia’s jaw clenched when she heard Clarke’s name, or the way her fists tightened around the furs of Lexa’s bed – she never saw it, never noticed the tenseness that overcame Costia at the sheer mention of Clarke, and had she even seen it, she wouldn’t have understood it.

“I don’t know,” Costia always replied. “She has to be in Polis. But she hasn’t been found out, yet.”

Costia didn’t know that Clarke had left Polis. So far as she knew, nobody had gotten out of Polis – but Titus had blindsided her just as he had everyone else.

Whoever that man served, he was only ever truly loyal to himself.

Not that his loyalties were of any use to him anymore, now that his head was disconnected from his body. After Lexa’s death, the city had been swiftly overtaken by Nia’s supporters – there hadn’t even been time to think about resistance before every guard had been replaced by Nia’s supporter and a new Heda sat on Lexa’s throne.

Though Ontari was Heda in name and in position, everyone knew who really had control over Polis now.

But none of that was of any consequence in Lexa’s sick-chamber. She didn’t have to know that her legacy had been overrun overnight, or that her world was now in turmoil – all she had to focus on, as Costia had decided, was getting better.

And so Lexa knew about nothing of it, not until she was well enough.

“How did I get here?”

Costia was sitting by Lexa’s bedside, quietly working on a piece of knitting. She glanced at Lexa, offered her a smile, and put her work down, shuffling a little to get closer. “How are you feeling?”

Lexa frowned. She had a little headache, and couldn’t really feel anything below her chest, but she felt better than she had for days. “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “I just want to get out of here.”

Costia sighed. “You’re not well enough.”

“How long have I been here?”

Lexa honestly had no idea. She had been sleeping and dreaming so much, and spent so much time in feverish delirium, that she didn’t know whether days or months had passed.

“A few weeks.”

“But how-“ Lexa cleared her throat. “How did I get here?”

“Are you well enough to listen?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Do you have a headache?”

“No,” Lexa lied. “I don’t.”

Costia sighed again. “Fair enough. I guess- I guess I can’t keep the truth from you, not any more.”

“Have you been lying to me?”

“No,” Costia said quickly. “I simply wanted to spare you the truth.”

Lexa frowned but remained quiet, waiting for an explanation. Her head was swimming a little, but she focused on listening, ignoring the overwhelming desire she had to go back to sleep.

“I- Nia had been undermining you for years. I couldn’t stop it, I tried, and I managed to slow it down and I thought it was done…but then the Skaikru came. And the people…they didn’t like what you did with them. They wanted you to show your strength, to annihilate them as the threat that Nia painted them as, but…you made the right choice,” Costia said quietly. “But they didn’t see it as that. And it gave Nia ground, and it grew so quickly I couldn’t stop it – they decided to get rid of you. I killed so many assassins, Lexa, you wouldn’t even believe, and I thought they would stop – but then they approached Titus.”

Lexa drew a breath, but said nothing.

“He came to me. We- we knew it couldn’t be stopped. You didn’t have power like you used to, Lexa, nor would any Heda after you – Nia had poisoned their minds, turned them against nightbloods and the Coalition, it was inevitable but…I couldn’t watch you die. I just- I couldn’t…”

“Costia,” Lexa whispered, moving her hand to try and reach out to her. “I’m not dead.”

Costia wiped away a tear and straightened up. “I know. But I- I…I coated a bullet in the essence of white belladonna, and other herbs – it took long for me to figure it out, but in the end, when Titus shot you…you just fell asleep. You bled, you looked like you'd die, but you didn't, you were just asleep-”

“So that- that was real?” Lexa stammered. “The…”

“Yes,” Costia sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she’d be there too…but you were the priority. After you’d fallen into deep sleep, your heart rate was so slow that nobody could have detected it, and then, well…then it was just about getting you into the tunnels.”

“So they- they think I’m dead?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone?”

_Even Clarke?_

“Yes.”

Lexa sighed and shut her eyes, not believing what she was hearing.

“Who stands in my place?”

“Ontari.”

“And the rest?”

“Dead.”

The thought of all the nightbloods dead made Lexa’s heart twist in pain, and for a long while, she said nothing at all.

“And Clarke?”

“I don’t know, _fyu,_ ” Ontari sighed. “I wish I did.”

“I wish I could get out of here,” Lexa muttered, tears stinging at her eyes. She was tired, she was frustrated, and she was in pain, and she was sick of seeing the same ceiling and the same walls and the same fireplace day after day, with no change, no difference to anything. She ate the same foods, drank the same vile medicines, and the same sweet-tasting water, and every day was as unsurprising as the next.

Costia just sighed and picked up her knitting. “Just rest.”

 

* * *

 

When Lexa next awoke, she found Costia standing by her bed, shaking her slightly.

“What?”

Costia smiled. “I think you’re well enough for a short walk.”

Lexa frowned. Sure, she’d been walking around the chamber for some time now, and had been allowed to move about in the halls to some extent – but Costia hadn’t even mentioned that she might have been well enough to take a walk, not like she was suggesting now.

"Are you sure I'm well enough?"

"Yes," Costia told her. "And I'll be there, every step of the way - I just know you need to get out, I know how much you crave fresh air- just trust me."

“Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

Costia helped Lexa put on a thicker coat, and was there as support as Lexa took a few first steps to get used to walking again. She felt unsteady, her feet felt shaky, but she was determined to not be stuck in the room any longer, and gritted her teeth as she pushed herself forward another step.

It hurt, but not too much.

Outside her chamber was a hallway full of closed doors and lit torches. A man stood outside as well, burly and strong, and Lexa didn’t have to ask why he followed them when he did. She knew he was there to carry her back if need be, and the fact that she needed to be coddled embarrassed her to a great extent.

She refused to hold Costia’s arm. She wanted to do it herself.

Costia said nothing, only led her through the halls to a staircase.

“Can you get up?”

Lexa looked at the stairs and saw no end to them. But she’d come this far, and could smell the fresh air already.

There was no turning back.

“I can,” she muttered, placing her hand on the wall. “Just give me time.”

Step by step, groan by groan, Lexa made it up the stairs. A few times she had to stop because she felt dizzy, and cursed her own weakness under her breath. Never in her life had she felt this weak, this powerless, and she hated the fact that Costia was there witnessing it.

“Do you want to stop?”

Lexa didn’t look at Costia. She just shook her head.

It took her half an hour to finally make it all the way up. Once she’d gotten the door in her sight, she’d gained the very last bits of strength, and had climbed up, ignoring the burning pain in her gut and the blinding pain in her head – she wanted to get out, had to get out – and she did.

The fresh air rushed out at her when the door opened, enveloped her in a gust of wind, and the sheer coldness and clarity of it made Lexa gasp for breath. She couldn’t see anything for a long while, her eyes having gotten used to the hazy darkness below – but, after a while of tears and blinking furiously, she began making out the landscape.

They were on top of a large hill, overlooking a river and a forest, the horizon stretching out as far as eye could see. Lexa saw the green of the woods, the blue of the sky, and the hint of a golden sunset at the point where sky and earth became one – she saw it, and felt as though her heart would burst, and for a long while, said absolutely nothing.

She didn’t notice that she was swaying from the exhaustion of the climb, but Costia did. And Costia, quietly, without saying a word, stepped in, wrapped an arm around Lexa’s waist, and allowed her to lean against herself.

All Lexa could see was the world – her world. She knew where she was – she’d climbed this hill more times than she could remember, she knew the woods below, had played in them as a child; the river that bellowed below may have looked frightening from above, but Lexa knew that about a mile from where they stood the water swelled into a small lake, and it was in the crystal-clear and icy cold waters of that lake that she’d learned to swim, so many years before. It was in those woods that she had killed her first deer, her first dove, where she had first learned to ride and to climb - she had learned so much in the valley that lay before, so much of her history was tied to the rocks and the trees that she saw, and the calm feeling of serenity, of belonging to the place where she stood, made Lexa's heart feel at home again.

She instinctively looked westwards, to a dip in the landscape where she knew a valley lay, hidden amidst the tall pine trees. She expected to see spirals of smoke coming from the valley, as they always had in her memories, but instead saw a wide emptiness in the forest, a hole where thick canopies had once been. There were no trees hiding the valley – there was nothing there, the whole western hill and beyond had burned down to ashes and ruin.

“It was only a forest fire,” Costia said quietly. “Everyone got out.”

“Where are they now?”

That had been Lexa’s home for eight years of her life. And now it was gone.

“Here and there. Scattered.”

Lexa couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips, or the tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. She jumped a little when Costia’s thumb reached over and wiped it away. When Costia’s hand stayed there, resting on her cheek, Lexa was torn – it was so familiar, so gentle, so much like how she remembered; but it wasn’t the same, she wasn’t young anymore, nor was Costia. Too much had changed.

And so when Costia turned her head and leaned in for a kiss, Lexa pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled quietly. “I- I can’t.”

Costia only nodded and looked away. The wind tossed her hair, and for the first time, Lexa saw the hardness in her expression. Her shoulders back, arms linked behind her, she looked almost like a statue with her chin held high and eyes fixed on the horizon.

The Costia Lexa remembered had never looked as regal, as much in control, as the Costia she was looking at now.

“I’m tired,” Lexa finally sighed, allowing herself to sway a little. Immediately when she’d said it, Costia whirled around, her expression full of worry, worry dedicated only to her. When only a moment later Lexa allowed herself to be lifted into the arms of the guard, and taken back in, Costia followed right by her, watching her carefully, her hand never letting go of Lexa’s until she was laid back in her bed and tucked under the covers.

“I hope that didn’t tire you out too much,” Costia whispered, stroking Lexa’s cheek. “And I’m sorry that I-“

“No, I understand,” Lexa interrupted, yawning a little. “It’s just…I can’t.”

“I understand.”

But there was a hint that she didn’t, not fully – there was disappointment, Lexa could hear it clear as day, but also knew there was nothing she could do to dispel it.

She didn’t want that with Costia. Not anymore.

It had been too long.

She recalled the good times with a warm heart and a smile on her lips, and now, seeing her alive and well, the guilt that had pressed on her shoulders for so many years was just gone – she was free to love the memories, to remember how much she once loved her, but she was also free to know that she no longer felt the same.

Lexa had always known she was the type to give her all when it came to love.

Costia had once had her all.

Now all of her, all that she had, belonged to Clarke. She couldn’t undo it, not that she would’ve wanted to – just like Costia once had, the thought of Clarke now left a secure feeling in Lexa’s heart, a feeling that everything would be alright, that she would have someone to fall back on; someone to share her weight with, someone to understand why she sometimes just wanted to crumble and fall away out of existence – what Costia had once been, Clarke was now.

But above all else that Lexa felt for Clarke, she felt worry. She didn’t know where she was, how she was, if she was alright or not – she didn’t know anything except the fact that Clarke, if alive, probably thought her dead, and just the thought of Clarke in pain was enough to wound Lexa’s heart.

“Are there any news from Polis?”

Costia shook her head. “No, nothing.”

Lexa wanted to ask about Clarke. She was burning to ask, wanted to know, prayed that there’d be something to tell her that she was all right – but she daren’t ask Costia that. Despite the fact that she no longer felt for Costia as she had once felt, she did not want to wound her.

She still cared about her, very much. She always would.

“No word on Clarke, either,” Costia sighed. “I know you’d like to know, if there was any.”

Lexa nodded. “Thank you.”

“You just focus on resting, _fyu_ ,” Costia said softly. “And when you’re healthy again, we will take back your city, and your people, and you can go find Clarke again.”

Lexa smiled and fell further into the furs. “Thank you, Cos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lexa is my poor sick baby and i feel bad for costia but things are changing and lexa's heart knows what it wants
> 
> also sleepy lexa is my favorite thing


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also lemme just clarify, in this au-ish thing Nia isn't dead
> 
> she's important for plot just go w it ok
> 
> also this ended up way angstier and plot-heavy than i anticipated and i LOVE it you guys sure are gonna love it too

 

_Her assailant dragged her backwards, not uttering a word, not stopping until they’d come a good twenty yards away from the clearing. Clarke was kicking, tried to scream, but the hand over her mouth was tight and all that came out were muffled cries, barely audible at all._

_The jeep rushed past them, disappeared into the fog, and the forest fell silent again. Clarke, realizing there was no use in fighting, relaxed, deciding not to waste her strength._

_She was sure she was going to need it._

_“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”_

_The fact that Clarke recognized the voice hissing in her ear surprised her most of all, as did the fact that the instant the jeep had disappeared from view, the hands around her arms and mouth relaxed and let her go._

_“Niylah?”_

_“Not here, let’s go-“_

_“I can’t, Octavia-“_

_“I’ll send some friends to get her, these woods aren’t safe,” Niylah snapped, grabbing Clarke’s arm and pulling her along. “Come on!”_

 

* * *

 

The low rumble of the clouds hanging low overhead echoed in the empty hills, just as another flash of blinding light struck the side of the mountain behind them. Water rushed down the slopes in streams of grey mud, in the crevices and cracks of the rocky ground of the valley’s base, covering everything in a colorless sludge, hiding any hint of life or color beneath it.

Clarke stood ankle-deep in the mud, watching as a crowd of people tried their best to make their way down without slipping. She saw carts slip and slide down, and wished the weather hadn’t changed so abruptly, or that there’d been warning – but this was what they’d been given, and this was what they’d work with.

“Come on!” she yelled, so to catch everyone’s attention. “There’s shelter at the base of the hill, and a warm fire. Not long now.”

The fact that she spoke in trigedasleng surprised no one. So far as the grounders behind her were concerned, Clarke was one of them. Not that Clarke particularly cared.

The fact that they called her Wanheda didn’t matter to Clarke either. She’d taken the name she’d hated and made it into her title, into her identity, so much so that sometimes when her friends called her by her real name, she didn’t realize they were talking to her.

A cry from behind her caught Clarke’s attention, and she turned around in time to see a child slip and start sliding down the hill, unable to stop his fall. His mother, struggling to hold her baby on her hip while carrying a bag, had no means of helping him, other than to yell.

Clarke caught the child with ease, stopping him from sliding any further by grabbing his arm and standing firmly in place until the child had regained his footing.

“Careful,” she told him. “There’s no use in rushing if it get’s you killed.”

The child scrambled away from her, but Clarke paid no mind. She knew she was feared, it was no surprise, seeing as her title was the Commander of Death - any fool would've known to fear her, just based off her name.

The shelter at the base of the hill was nothing more than an old bunker, but it had a roof, and warm fires, and hot food. That was all these people needed, for now.

“How many this time?”

Clarke sighed as she tossed her bag into a chair next to Raven. It had taken a long time to ensure everyone got down the mountain safely, but finally, after hours of standing and walking in the rain, she was inside, and on her way to getting some dry clothes. “Thirty-two.”

“Any more coming soon?”

“No,” Clarke told her, shaking her head. “Not for a while.”

“And when will these leave?”

“Once the rain stops.”

“So a few days,” Raven decided, reaching behind her to toss Clarke a flask. “Here. You look parched.”

Clarke caught the flask with ease, but stared at the cork for a while before opening it and finishing the whole bottle in one go.

“Chill, it’s just water,” Raven exclaimed, frowning a little. “No need to chug it like that.”

Clarke just shrugged and handed her the empty bottle. “Forgot to drink, that’s all.”

She didn’t want to tell Raven that the last time she’d sat down for a meal had been two days ago. It wasn’t her business. She was fine.

“You’ve got that council-“

“I know.”

“Octavia’s already there.”

Clarke just nodded and went her way. This was her one last task for the day.

Then she could rest.

 

* * *

 

Her seat was at the end of the table. So far as everyone else was concerned, Clarke was the leader of the group, of the council that had formed on it’s own over the past month – she had never assumed the position, nor had she ever been told to take it, but somehow, she had ended up finding herself being addressed as Wanheda and bowed at, respected, and even feared.

When she had first seen Niylah two months prior, she would’ve never guessed it would come to this. She would’ve never guessed that she would let herself be relied on again, not when she felt that every attempt she had made at leadership had failed miserably – and yet, there she was, sitting in a throne-like chair at the end of a table, wearing armor nearly identical to Lexa's, wearing her hair like a Grounder warrior, with even a touch of war paint reminiscent of what Lexa had worn, being treated as though she were the Heda of the people who sat around her.

It hadn’t been her intent to form a council. She hadn’t even thought about what she was doing, not for the first weeks.

For the first weeks, she had just followed around with Niylah and her few grounder friends as they went from one pillaged village to the next to offer help to whoever they could find. Most of those that they found were beyond help. For the few that they could have helped, the only help left to offer was the release of death.

But there were some, hiding in the woods, families and orphaned children and lone survivors, who they were able to help. They were people who wanted nothing to do with the war, who had lost everything for the cause of someone else – they were people whose only desire was to be somewhere where the war wasn’t.

It had been Clarke’s idea, initially. Just a shelter, a safe space hidden in a ravine, where the battles were unlikely to pass over; that was where she’d told people to go, and where, after some time, more people began appearing. She wasn’t too sure how the word travelled, but by the end of the week four had become seventy-six, and by the end of the second, that number had tripled.

All they wanted was to get away from the wars that raged all over the lands that had been so peaceful just a few months prior.

All hell had broken loose after Ontari’s succession to Lexa’s throne. Everyone knew that the real leader behind the Heda was Nia, and, after half of the Ice Nation had come down south and invaded the lands of Trikru and Blue Cliff, everyone knew that she was not one for peace.

The Ice Nation had always wanted more land. In truth, all the clans wanted to expand, that was the very nature of survival in a continent where the weather conditions changed year after year – one years’ good harvest never guaranteed another for the next, and so, wanting more space was only a reasonable desire.

Lexa had managed to keep all the clans to their own territories with her Coalition, and for that short time, there had been peace.

Nia, on the other hand, had no care for respecting borders. When her army had come down south, it had sparked battles all over – the decades long disagreement between Broadleaf and Glowing Forest fired up again, Delphi attacked the Plains Riders in an attempt to recover some areas around a lake that had once belonged to them, and a second Heda arose in the southern expanses of Blue Cliff territory – a young boy named Metus, a nightblood who had never been sent to Polis, whose claim to the Heda’s title some began to see as more legitimate than Ontari’s.

Before anyone had known to expect it, the Grounders were divided into three: those who stood by Ontari’s claim as Heda, those who stood by Metus, and those who opposed the concept of a Heda as a whole.

And outside of this all were the Arkadians. They fought whoever they wished, trying to expand into Trikru lands, and there were rumors that Pike had struck an agreement with Nia.

Clarke had heard these rumors, had heard the stories of those whose homes had been overrun by armies and battles, and had given up on the idea of war altogether.

_Blood must not have blood._

She would not fight. That was her principle, that was what she lived by – she did not have the energy to fight, nor did she believe in the agendas of any of the three who fought.

All she cared for was peace. And peace was what her council was based upon.

Peace, and survival.

All of those who sat around the table were there for the same things. There were warriors, like Skal of the Plains Riders or Petrus from Broadleaf, or leaders, like Odmun from Delphi and Eyota from Blue Cliff – and there were just people, too, like Niylah, and Lincoln, people who hadn’t been much of anything until the wars began and they found themselves with others relying on them for survival and safety.

Clarke sat in her chair, tapping her fingers against the armrest, waiting for Octavia to start talking. Though it was her plan, she had no intentions of explaining it herself - Octavia was better at talking, spoke trigedasleng better than she did, not to mention that Clarke really did not have the energy to talk.

She didn’t have much energy for anything, nowadays.

“So, we are here to hear this great plan,” began Petrus, a burly man with coarse black hair and a braided beard reaching his belly. He was a mad man of the South, who were rumoured to gain tremendous strength during battle using herbs that only they knew how to gather and prepare - Clarke wasn't so sure whether the rumours were true, but she had seen Petrus split a man's torso in half with one swing of his sword, and so knew that he possessed tremendous strength.

“The plan of Wanheda,” mused someone else – Odmun, the village leader from Delphi, a sly looking man, with dark black hair and a sharp nose, and dotted tattoos in yellow and red that ran patterns on his pale white skin. “The one that is to save us all, yes?”

His voice was dripping with doubt and sarcasm, but Clarke was not worried. That was simply the way Odmun presented himself – she knew him to be a more reasonable person than what he let himself appear.

She looked at Octavia and nodded to tell her that she should start explaining.

It wasn’t a solid plan as of yet. There were many things that could cause it’s failure, but, with more and more people coming to them each week, they were pressed for a solution.

And Clarke had found one.

Well, she had found a route. She knew she couldn’t end war on her own, nor did she want to try – she had given up on helping everyone.

Now, she only helped those who wanted her help.

And now she was going to lead them north, through Azgeda, through the north-eastern mountains, and to the sea. She wasn’t so sure what she would find at the sea as of yet. She wasn’t so sure they would find anything at all.

All she knew was that the Ice Nation’s territory ended at the north-eastern mountains, and that beyond them, there were forests and lakes, and a river that presumably led to the sea. All she knew was that in Earth Science she had learned that the lands by the sea were almost always warmer than those inland.

All she really knew was that the lands beyond the north-eastern mountains were uninhabited, and unreachable.

Or they had been, until she had sent Eyota and a few of her hunters to the tunnels at the base of the mountains with a bag full of Raven’s explosives.

And now, where there had once been impenetrable tunnels and mountain canyons blocked by boulders and rubble, there was a way through.

It wasn’t perhaps the safest way. If anything, it was most likely to end in death and ruin. But it was the only way that Clarke knew that could get the seven hundred or so people currently hidden in the valley to somewhere without war.

All that she needed now was the support of the council.

Octavia did speak well. She had authority that Clarke hadn’t even expected her to have, she managed to keep the attentions of everyone in the room for the duration of her speech – she explained Clarke’s idea thoroughly, leaving room for questions and doubts but not leaving anything essential out.

Clarke couldn’t have explained it better.

But then Octavia was finished, and she looked around to find faces full of doubt and question, and sighed.

“I know there are questions, and you all most likely oppose this as of now,” Clarke said, rising a little in her seat. “So ask. You will trust me, in the end.”

There was a moment of silence when all those around the table looked at one another to see whose turn it was to speak, which ended when Skal cleared her throat and set down the knife she’d been toying with.

“With all due respect, Wanheda – have you lost your mind? To travel through Azgeda is suicide.”

Clarke had known to expect her sanity to be questioned, and so, she simply looked directly at Skal, not even quivering at the sight of her, and said: “Staying here, that’s suicide. My way is a chance at something better.”

Skal really was a frightening sight. She was tall and slender, with a narrow face and sharp features – her eyes were a bright clear blue, piercing in their nature, and the fact that her skin and hair was almost entirely white only emphasized the skeleton-like air that she had.

She also wore a helmet fashioned from a human skull, with patterns painted in blue and gray, each tooth sharpened to a point, making it appear inhuman – but it wasn’t, her entire army of riders wore helmets like such, the skulls of their first kills, painted to prove their power and worth.

“And besides,” Clarke continued, placing a hint of a drawl into her voice, “The Ice Nation has moved down south. They have no interest in the far north - the northern areas of their territories are wastelands of ice and snow. What remains of them in the farthest expanses of their territory is not as great a threat to us, especially if we travel as lightly and quietly as possible.”

“And how would you achieve that? There are hundreds of people, children, how will you pass them through enemy lands without anyone getting seen?”

Clarke shrugged. “We send out parties to scout the areas around the travelling groups. Kill anyone who sees, hide the evidence. I’m sure with your riders, and Eyota’s hunters, that it wouldn’t be much of a task.”

Clarke stared at Skal for a short while before the woman nodded and sat slightly back, content in her answer.

Next to her sat Odmun.

Clarke knew he would have the most questions of them all.

“So you are saying that not only will we have to travel through the Ice Nation, but that you want us to go through tunnels and canyons that may not be safe to pass through? How can you be certain that there won’t be a landslide that blocks our way?”

“I cannot,” Clarke admitted. “But it is a risk we must take. And we do have more explosives, if need be. But so far as I understood from Eyota’s description, there are only a few places in the beginning where they required them – afterwards, it was just a matter of navigating the tunnels.”

“And what if we get lost?”

“Eyota’s hunters marked the way with chalk and ribbons. And if you still get lost, you will find the way.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Survival instinct,” Clarke replied. “I’d wager most of you aren’t keen on dying. Anyone can find a way if they’re desperate enough.”

She moved on to looking at Lincoln, who sat by Odmun, but he seemed to have no questions – Niylah, too, remained silent, as did a few others until Clarke’s eyes met Petrus’s.

“You think heading farther north will help us? Half of us know nothing of snow, or of winter – how do you expect us to know how to farm? Or to hunt? Or to keep ourselves warm in the winter?”

Petrus was from the south. It was no surprise that this was his chief concern.

“We have plenty of northerners amongst us who can teach us,” Clarke told him. “The Plains Riders know something of harsh winters, as do Delphi, even Trikru – and there isn’t anything that cannot be learned.”

“And you believe that by the sea, it would be warmer? How do you know this?”

“I studied these matters, when I was in the sky.”

It was easier to mention that she had come from the sky. It left little to question, and usually left it’s hearer in a state of awe that allowed for questions to be forgotten.

And Clarke really didn’t have the time or energy to begin explaining rudimentary Earth Science to a group of grounders.

It took an hour for her to fully convince the council that her plan was viable. There were arguments, questions, and a lot of doubts – but in the end, a plan was made, and Eyota agreed to ride out the day after next with Skal to begin scouting out the safest path through Azgeda.

An hour, and Clarke was finally able to let the mask of Wanheda fall away, to withdraw from everyone around her and just be in peace.

When she was not acting as Wanheda, she felt like nothing at all.

The joyful chatter and liveliness of the crowds in the bunker gradually grew more and more irritating until finally, Clarke felt a pressing need to get out. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t face seeing another smiling child or hear laughing chatter – she simply couldn’t.

And so she grabbed her coat and left without a word, ignoring the worried look that passed over Octavia’s and Raven’s faces as she passed them.

She knew they were worried, but she didn’t care to try and lessen their worry. Nothing really mattered to her any more, nothing except what she had made into her task.

She’d known what she’d wanted to do the instant Niylah had dragged her down to the bunker and introduced her to her friends.

She’d known, in that instant, when she was surrounded by frightened men and women and children who wanted no part in the battles being waged not ten miles west, that she wanted to help them.

She couldn’t help herself. She was beyond help.

It wasn’t like she could bring Lexa back.

 

* * *

 

 

The mud slid underneath Clarke’s foot and for a moment, she thought she would fall. But she grabbed a tree, steadied herself, and spat out a few curses, determined to get to where she was headed.

The river at the base of the valley rushed aggressively with the masses of murky water that kept falling from the skies and running down the mountains around the valley. It had been storming for quite some time, two days at least, and it did not look like it was going to stop any time soon.

Where the river bent and pooled into a small lake of sorts, Clarke shed her clothes and, without a second thought, waded into the water. It was so cold that she felt her heart jolt and she withdrew a sharp breath, but she kept going, walking slowly over the round rocks on the river’s bottom until the water reached her shoulders.

She stood there for a brief moment, feeling the coldness surround her, feeling herself begin to float, and shut her eyes. Rain fell onto her face, hard like ice; the water from the sky felt warmer than the water she was standing in. The raindrops rolling down her face mixed with the tears that had begun slipping down her cheeks the instant she’d left the bunker.

She could hear the rush of the river and the hammering of the water onto the waves around her, the sound so deafening it buried beneath itself everything else – she didn’t hear anything, not her own breaths, not her own pulse, not even the voices in her head.

Well, one voice.

Her own.

_I have failed._

But for now, it was quiet, silenced beneath the uproar of the storm around her, and she felt content – if even just for a second.

And then, slowly, she let herself be submerged in the murky swirling waves, let herself slip down underwater and allowed the rest of the world to slip away.

She could feel the current pushing against her, gentle yet forceful, but not enough to control her as she swam forward without aim. She could feel her body going numb, slowly losing it’s ability to move, but kept swimming, not caring where she went, only wanting to keep going, to stay moving, so as to keep her body from going completely numb.

She could feel the burning sensation in her lungs, but only came up once her head felt like it was about to burst. The wind rushed at her head and wet skin, cooling it down so much it felt like she had frozen solid; the bottom was now far beyond the reach of her feet, but Clarke did not feel fear.

She half wanted the beasts of the bottom to take her. She knew they were there, she saw the swirls and rise of the water where their own currents went, and could’ve sworn she felt some touch her legs – but panic never set in, fear never even crossed her mind as she swam to the opposite shore and back.

She no longer cared whether she lived or died, and somehow, it seemed that the scaly beasts in the water knew that too. Never once had she been attacked, never once had she been bitten or pulled underwater – she and the creatures of the water lived in a mutual understanding of sorts, where Clarke did not bother them, and they did not bother her.

When she got out of the water she was shaking so much she could barely grasp her fingers around the fabric of her shirt to pick it up. Her skin was so numb she didn’t feel a sharper piece of rock cut a gash into her calf, she only noticed when she was pulling her pants on and felt the hot blood on her cold skin.

She just wiped the blood off and kept dressing herself, knowing that if she lingered for too long she’d be too cold and beyond walking back to the bunker.

She stumbled four times on her numb legs, trying to get them to work, before giving up and sitting down to start rubbing them to generate even some sort of heat.

“Clarke, you have to stop this.”

Clarke had seen Octavia approaching some time ago, and so was not surprised when her voice piped up from near her.

She also didn’t answer.

“Clarke,” Octavia repeated, sounding annoyed. “Can’t you even look at me?”

Clarke turned her face away. Despite the fact that it was raining, and the fact that she’d just been in the water, she knew that the tears on her cheeks would have been noticed by Octavia.

She felt Octavia’s hand on her arm, pulling her up, and didn’t push her away. She didn’t resist, either, when Octavia wrapped her arm around her waist and helped her start walking.

“I know you don’t talk about it, about her,” Octavia muttered. “And I know none of us really know what happened.”

She waited for a while to see if Clarke would respond.

She didn’t.

“But you can’t…you have to stop punishing yourself. Please.”

Clarke glanced at Octavia for a brief second before swallowing. “I’m not punishing myself,” she muttered.

“Then why the _fuck_ are you trying so hard to kill yourself with hypothermia, every fucking day?”

“It’s the only place where I don’t think about her,” Clarke said quietly. “This- it’s the only way I don’t think, at all.”

That shut Octavia up.

Clarke hadn’t actually told Octavia or anyone about Lexa.

But they had figured it out, eventually. Clarke didn’t know that sometimes she cried and whispered Lexa’s name in her sleep. Clarke didn’t know that despite all her efforts, every time Lexa was mentioned her face fell – Clarke didn’t know, she couldn’t have known, because none of her friends had found the heart to tell her.

They knew she was in mourning, which was why they were giving her the space they knew she needed.

But they were also growing increasingly worried about her. Clarke knew they had good reason to be worried – sometimes she would go days without eating, only taking a few mouthfuls when she felt like she was about to faint; sometimes she would push herself beyond the limits of exhaustion, only to collapse on the first remotely soft surface without any care for whether or not it was a safe place to rest, and sometimes, most times, she just did not care.

Lexa had been someone she had thought she could build a trusting relationship with. She hadn’t been sure what sort of relationship, or why she thought Lexa was the one to trust, given all that she’d done to make herself appear untrustworthy – but of all the people Clarke had met after coming to the ground, Lexa had been the only one who had understood.

She hadn’t really ever said she did, but Clarke had seen it in her eyes, and in her countenance. She had a weight on her shoulders, a role she had to live up to, and underneath all of that, she was still young, and battling the balance between Heda and Lexa.

Clarke felt the same way.

She still did, only now, she felt like she was the only one.

So far as she was concerned, she _was_ the only one.

Lexa had been the promise of a life where she didn't feel alone at all times, of a life where she felt supported and needed, of a safe space - but she was gone, she'd been torn away from her, and that promise had come to mean nothing at all.

“I’m tired,” Clarke muttered once they reached the bunker. “I think I’m going to sleep.”

“You need to look at Raven’s neck at some point. She says it hurts.”

Clarke sighed. “She had a chip removed from her spine. It’s no surprise it hurts.”

“It was a month ago.”

“I’ll look at it once I’ve rested a little, okay?”

Octavia nodded. She’d stopped supporting Clarke the second they’d come within sight of the bunker. Clarke was Wanheda, and Wanheda stood strong, and alone.

Wanheda could not afford to show weakness, not when so many people relied on her to protect them and to bring them to safety.

It took a long time for Clarke’s body to stop shivering, even after she’d buried herself under the furs of her bed. She laid there, in fresh clothes, shivering in the dark, clutching the pouch inside which she’d pocketed the chip.

She didn’t sleep much, but when she did, it was only with that chip in the tight grasp of her fist.

It was impossible to sleep, really. Clarke felt tired all the time, whether or not she slept, and so she saw no point in tossing and turning night after night. She didn't see any point in subjecting herself to the nightmares that she endured almost each time that she closed her eyes, of watching Lexa die all over again, of remembering the blood and the fear and the gunshot and the tears...she didn't want to recall any of that. Most nights, she snuck out once everyone had fallen asleep, climbed to the top of a hill and watched the stars, wondering if Lexa was somewhere up there. She refused to believe that any part of Lexa could now be in Ontari, in the new Heda – Lexa may have believed in reincarnation, but Clarke did not.

She wasn’t so sure she believed in anything. It didn’t feel like Lexa could’ve been somewhere in the sky, in heaven, it didn’t feel like it existed at all – but she also didn’t want to think that Lexa was gone altogether, that she no longer existed as nothing but a memory.

And so she’d settled on thinking that Lexa was in the stars, because the calmness of the night sky was reminiscent of the same calm that had always been around Lexa, that same serenity that hid behind the role of Heda, behind everything; Lexa had been so calm when they’d laid in bed, Lexa’s smile had been so warm and content, and everything about it, every memory Clarke had of that brief slice of happiness, everything had been so serene.

The silence of the stars and the dark blue sky overhead was a ghost of that serenity, and it was under those stars that Clarke spent most of her nights. She laid on the ground and stared up into the sky, at the stars amidst which she’d grown up, and did her best to ignore the pressing weight that stood on her shoulders whenever she went back to the bunker.

But for now, she had decided she would sleep. She knew she needed it, and, after hours of tossing and turning, she was able to slip into a calm, dreamless sleep – but come morning, she would awake just as tired, just as grey, just as fed up with everything and just as lacking with a care for anything other than the preservation of the last slivers of Lexa’s legacy.

She hoped that one day the pain would end and she would be happy again, but she had a hard time believing such a thing could ever happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clarke deserves all the hugs in the world and also someone to support her
> 
> lucky for us lexa isn't actually dead
> 
> but clarke won't know that for a little while


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah took me a while to get to updating this....but i did! so here you go

Lexa awoke to find herself in the dark.

The fire had died out, and, for a brief moment, she thought she was alone.

Costia was nowhere to be seen. There was a woman sitting in a chair by the wall, dozed off, quiet as can be – had she not let out a little sigh, Lexa wouldn’t have known she was there.

She didn’t know what day it was.

In truth, Lexa didn’t even know what month it was. What time of year, or anything – it had been over a month since Costia had taken her outside.

She couldn’t properly keep track of time in her chamber.

It didn’t help that her head still did not feel clear.

With a quiet groan, Lexa swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the soles of her feet barely reaching the cool earth floor of the cave. Her legs were slimmer now, more slim than she would’ve liked – they were lacking strength. And Lexa hated that.

“All in good time,” Costia kept telling her, reminding her that she needed to heal for more.

Lexa believed her, but still hated the fact that she felt weak. She knew she was, too; she could barely lift a jug of water, let alone imagine herself swinging a sword. She couldn’t even walk down the hallway without feeling dizzy.

In a sudden fit of annoyance, Lexa crept out of her room, leaving her chaperone behind. She didn’t approve of the fact that Costia had someone watch over her at all times, even if it was a kindness and motivated by concern. She just didn’t like feeling a child.

Just mere months ago, she had been Heda. She had been powerful, strong, independent – and now, she was the exact opposite of each.

Though she may have appreciated Costia saving her life, she did not like what it had reduced her to.

It was oddly quiet in the hallway. There was no one around, only the flickering lights of torches and endless shadows. Just out of curiosity, Lexa walked on, her hand touching the wall gently, afraid to walk openly in the middle of the way – for some reason, it felt like she was doing something she wasn’t allowed to.

She didn’t like feeling like there were things she wasn’t permitted to do.

Down the hall, she saw a different light cast through an open door – candlelight. And, as she approached, she heard voices; hushed voices, and the clatter of plates and mugs, quiet chatter over a meal.

She stopped right outside the door when she heard Clarke being mentioned.

“Have you heard the rumors about the Wanheda?”

“No, what about her?”

“They say she’s gathering people, to fight.”

“To fight?”

“The Commander of Death is going to join the war? Now that I would like to see.”

There was laughter, and soon, the topic shifted elsewhere. Lexa silently wished they would have kept talking. She couldn’t move, could barely stand up – just hearing that tiny bit about Clarke had sent her heart into a bounding panic.

_Clarke? To war?_

Lexa hated the thought.

She didn’t want Clarke anywhere near a battle, not any more than she already had been.

But she was alive. That was what had frozen Lexa so – just the news that Clarke was even _possibly_ alive was enough to have her feeling weak.

_Thank the skies._

Through some miracle, she managed to stumble back to her room without any trouble.

And somehow, she managed to pour herself a glass of water from the jug by the sleeping woman.

It was only when she set the jug down that she woke.

“Oh, no,” the woman smiled, taking the glass from Lexa’s hand. “That is not for you.”

Lexa frowned. “It’s just water?”

“No, the water is here- go back to bed, I’ll bring it to you.”

Lexa could’ve sworn that the few droplets she’d managed to drink had tasted like water. Less sweet than what the woman had given her, though she was assured it was water.

“It is a strong drink,” her carer told her, with a sweet smile which made Lexa uneasy. “You aren’t well enough for strong drink yet, my dear.”

Lexa laid in bed listening to her knit for a while.

It had been water in the jug. She was sure of it.

But what the woman had given her…that wasn’t water. It made Lexa’s skin tingle with creeping suspicion – in just a few moments, the little she trust had had for this woman had slipped away. And now all that was left was doubt.

The worst was to come a few days later, when Costia returned from wherever she’d been.

She came to Lexa’s room, smiled as sweetly as she always did, and handed her a cup.

“Drink up. It’s important to stay hydrated.”

It tasted sweet, and Lexa dared only take a few sips.

She suddenly felt nauseous. Not from the drink, not from that at all – no, the nausea swelled up at the realization that she now doubted Costia.

At no point had she fully trusted her, but she hadn’t had much reason to doubt her motivation in getting her healthy – but now, she wasn’t so sure. She wanted to trust her. In her heart, she knew Costia meant well; but whether what Costia perceived as Lexa’s best was her actual best, that Lexa wasn’t so sure of.

She wanted to leave.

She’d wanted to leave for weeks now.

And hearing Clarke mentioned…it had lit a fire in her heart.

She had to find her.

And stop her from going to war.

 

* * *

 

The mountains loomed far over the plains, casting their sharp shadows onto the white-blue snowy landscape. Stars shone overhead, and in the west, the moon was just rising, it’s cold glow filling the air and earth with an air of expectation – of anticipation.

Clarke’s boots sunk halfway through the icy surface of the snow as she struggled to get to her destination.

She was tired, her legs were numb, and, as a rare treat, she was hungry.

Starving, even.

There were low clouds covering the valley towards which she was headed. A snowstorm, most likely. A good thing. It would conceal the smoke from the fires used to heat up the camp.

It wasn’t so much a camp as it was an old fortress, repurposed as a winter hideaway for half of the three hundred or so that were waiting for the right time to cross the plains.

Midwinter had passed.

Soon, spring would be here. And by the first day of summer, they had to be beyond the mountains.

Clarke stabbed her walking-stick through the snow and sighed as it cracked against frozen ground, leaning on it heavily. She was exhausted. She’d walked ten miles in the snow, from one fortress to the other - that was more than enough for one day.

She hadn’t dared take a horse. There had been sightings of warriors in the hills that she had now passed – a horse would have drawn too much attention.

The snow was heavier now, the nights less cold; though it didn’t look like it, Clarke could feel the change in the air. Soon, it would be time to leave, and for the biggest risk of her life thus far.

“Hot wine?”

A cup was shoved into Clarke’s hands the second she stepped into the fortress, steaming hot liquid spilling a little onto her hand as her legs, numb from the cold, stumbled.

The wine tasted sour but warmed her insides.

The air inside was smoky and warm, and there was a buzz in the air – almost two hundred people were crammed in a relatively small space, so a lack of noise would have been more surprising.

“How are the others?” Raven asked, glancing curiously at Clarke’s walking-stick. “And what’s up with the cane?”

“I slipped on a rock, hurt my ankle a little,” Clarke muttered. “It’ll be fine. The others are fine too. They’re ready to leave when the time comes.”

“Odmun says it’ll be soon. A week, two at most.”

Clarke nodded. “We need to cross the big river before the ice melts.”

“We do have provisions, for the trip,” Octavia chimed in. “Did the inventory today.”

“Bullets?”

“Plenty.”

“Clothes?”

“Enough.”

“Tools?”

Raven smirked. “Stop worrying. We’ve checked these things ten times over. Everything is as set as can be.”

Clarke nodded slowly, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. She could feel it in her gut, it had sat there for weeks now, the creeping sensation that something was due to go wrong – she didn’t like it, not knowing what was happening, whether she was genuinely predicting something or just worrying too much. It was unsettling to say the least.

She may not have cared too much about her survival in the matter, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about the survival of the hundreds of people whose lives relied on a plan that had, almost entirely, been her idea. She knew some would perish. That would be the price that they had to pay for survival.

It helped that everyone involved, save for the children, knew there were risks. Everyone knew they might not make it, and that, in some strange way, eased the pressure on Clarke.

When everyone else slept, she checked the provisions, over and over again. She analysed the plans, the route they’d chosen, double-checked the maps till she had nothing left to do – and still, she kept going.

In the morning, Octavia came into the storage room to find Clarke slumped against a box full of winter-clothes, fast asleep.

She dared not disturb her, and so left her there, despite knowing she’d wake with a sore neck; it was a small price to pay for some sleep.

They’d all agreed that Clarke didn’t look well. Didn’t sound well, either, she seemed dead inside to say the least. It didn’t help that she’d lost weight and gained a hollow look in her eyes, one which was only accentuated by the dark circles under her eyes. They, meaning Clarke’s closest friends, were truly hoping she’d find solace – but that was all they could do.

Hope.

They didn’t know how to help her, other than to make sure she ate and drank, and hope that better days were to come.

Octavia’s hope was running out. She wasn’t so sure if there were better days for Clarke.

She may not have truly understood Clarke, but she did understand her situation best.

Lincoln was gone. Octavia wasn’t so sure if she’d see better days, either. But she had fury within her, she wanted to fight and fix things, make things better – Clarke, on the other hand, was drained.

When Lincoln had died, a part of Octavia had died.

When Lexa had died, it seemed _all_ of Clarke had died as well.

Though she could only guess, Octavia figured Clarke had been more entangled in Lexa than what she’d let on. More attached than what she’d maybe even known herself.

They didn’t bother her with trivial things. For the next week, all went smoothly; problems were resolved without a hitch, and when, on a particularly opportune morning, they decided to leave, all was ready. And Clarke? She didn’t have to manage everything by herself.

 

* * *

 

Once Lexa had decided to leave, it was as if all opportunities to slip away had disappeared all at once. Costia was suddenly back, never leaving Lexa’s room. Guards filled the corridors, there was a lot happening underground; there were many hushed conversations that were held in the doorway under low light when Costia thought Lexa was asleep.

Most days, Lexa only pretended to sleep.

She hadn’t drank the sweet water for four days when she started feeling bad. Exceedingly so.

Sweating at night, limbs aching, a craving racking her mind – she needed the sweet water so terribly just the thought of it made her drool.

Just feeling as bad as she did, however, only made her more determined to not take even one drop.

Her mind was clear now.

She wasn’t ever going to let that slip away again.

And then, a night came. A night where it was quiet. Dead silent, not a footstep in the hall, not a breath in her room; she opened her eyes, sat up, and found herself alone.

Not entirely alone, no; Costia was there, but she was asleep.

_Now or never._

Her feet wavered when she stood up. She bit her lip and stumbled forward – she hadn’t stood up in hours, she felt stiff and weak, but pushed on anyway.

With immense strain on her muscles, she crept out of the room. The firelight flickered, and Costia sighed in her sleep – but did not wake. Lexa glanced back, just one last time…and then walked away.

She knew not where she was or how to get out. But she recalled the staircase had been at the end of a long corridor, and so she followed it, creeping along as silently as she could.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she quickly darted into an open room, filled with racks of cloaks and rugs, bed-furs and the like; she buried herself in them, hid away in the dark, and watched from the shadows as a group of soldiers walked past with clamor.

Before she left the room, she grabbed herself a hooded cloak. A thick one, dark green in color, with a waxy coating on top; it would be waterproof, and warm. Lexa wasn’t sure what season it was outside, but she knew she couldn’t go outside in the light clothes she was wearing. She wasn’t even wearing proper boots; just leather booties, ones which would be of no use if she walked out to find herself surrounded by snow and ice.

She walked along for a while before she found a room with a door at the other end. And by that door, she saw wet footprints – evidently, it had to lead outside.

It seemed to be a guards’ room of some sorts, with half-eaten plates of food still on the table. There was no one in sight, none at all. Lexa wasn’t sure why, or how, but she seized the opportunity nevertheless; she grabbed a bag from the wall, and filled it with whatever useful things she could find. Bread, meat, a knife or two, a flask half-full of some liquid.

There was a pair of boots by the fireplace, left there to dry.

They were far too big, but Lexa shoved them in the bag anyway.

When she turned around, she found she wasn’t alone.

A young girl, no older than eleven, stood in the doorway, looking at her with eyes as wide as can be.

“Shh,” Lexa said quietly, raising a finger to her lips. “Not a word.”

The girl seemed to be shaking.

“I’m going to leave,” Lexa continued, walking towards the door. “You won’t see me again.”

“Not that door-“ the girl squeaked.

Lexa raised her eyebrows. “Will you show me the way out?”

She didn’t like having to trust someone else. She loathed it.

But she had no other choice.

And the girl looked genuinely scared. Lexa was pretty sure she wouldn’t betray her, especially not when she was wielding a foot-long knife in her hand.

She was shaking like a dry leaf in autumn, really.

Lexa was slightly pleased to find she still commanded a fearsome look, even when she felt as weak as she did.

The girl scurried down the corridor, and Lexa followed, praying that they weren’t met with anyone else. She prayed Costia would stay asleep, she hoped it wasn’t too cold outside – she just hoped she could get out. She had to, really; she couldn’t stay any longer.

And then they were at a door, and upon opening it, cold wet air came rushing at her like a slap in the face. It was raining outside, and it was dark; the perfect night to slip away unnoticed.

“Not a word,” Lexa hissed at the girl, causing her to jump – and then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, and she stood by the wall for a while, getting used to the darkness and her surroundings.

It didn’t seem like there were any guards nearby. There was nothing to guard, really, save for a door that was barely distinguishable from the stony cliff behind her – it didn’t even have a handle on the outside.

Her shoes were already wet, but she dared not put the boots on just yet; she figured she should get further away before risking a break. She wasn’t in the clear just yet.

And so she pulled the hood over her head, tossed the bag over her shoulder, and started making her way through the rainy woods. She couldn’t hear much besides the rain pattering against her cloak, nor could she see much further than a few feet ahead of her – she really didn’t even know which way she was headed, other than away.

She walked all night. She didn’t run, not wanting to exhaust herself too much; she trudged through the muddy forests, hoping she’d see a landmark, or anything, that would tell her where she was – but she came across none.

When she finally came across a river, she sighed, relieved. She knew this river, recognized it’s bend even though it was swelled up from all the rainwater; she knew her old village was no more than a mile away.

It was there that she dared to stop for a few moments, under the cover of a large fir tree, to put on the boots. They were massive, so she stuffed them with scraps of cloth she tore from her own shirt – it wasn’t too cold, not just yet, and she was willing to choose comfortable feet over her stomach getting a little cold.

She tied the boots tight, knowing full well she looked ridiculous – they almost came up to mid-thigh. But they would keep her warm, and ease her path as she walked along, and so she was happy with them.

A bite of bread and a little piece of meat later she filled her flask from the river and headed off again. Not in the direction of her village. She knew full well that Costia would look for her there, it being the only familiar place to her in the area – but knowing where it was had placed her on the map. She knew where she was now.

And there were places near her village which Lexa knew Costia knew nothing about. They were places she’d found herself, places she’d told no one about, never in her life; they were her secret hiding-places, and no one else’s.

Dawn was already peeking over the horizon when she started seeing her destination. The black of the rainy night was turning to the grey fog of an early spring morning, and she was shivering, wet and cold as can be. But she saw the sandy hills in the distance, and knew she’d make it before the sun rose; by the time the day awoke, she would be hiding.

Little did she know that at that moment, when she stumbled down a steeper hill towards a bush covering the entrance to a cave, Costia had awoken to find her gone.

She shivered a little, not knowing that at that moment Costia was livid.

When she set her bag down on the dry floor of the cave, she wondered if her disappearance had been noticed.

It had.

And Costia was furious.

“How did she just _leave?”_ she cried, pinning a man to the wall by striking a knife through the collar of his shirt. “How did you miss her just walking out!?”

“Miss, you-“

“Careful,” Costia growled, moving the knife to his throat. “Do not say this was my fault.”

He may not have said it, but they all were thinking it.

Costia, too.

She was not only furious, but worried as well.

“I need her found,” she snarled, throwing the man away from her in disgust. “Now. Bring her back to me, alive.”

She would never forgive herself if Lexa died because she’d been too ill to defend herself. Because that’s what she was, ill – and that, Costia knew, was her fault.

Lexa did feel ill. She was shivering, she’d already thrown up once, and nothing seemed to get her warm. She dared not make a fire in fear of being found out, not to mention finding dry firewood would have been impossible after the rain of the night before.

She had taken off her shirt and pants and hung them up to dry, and done the same with her boots. The cloak was warm enough, and relatively dry; she laid on the sandy floor, wrapped up in the cloak, practically naked and just wishing she could sleep for a moment.

When she tried to eat, the smell of the meat made her retch. She barely managed to get a sip of water down.

She groaned and laid back down, pulling the hood over her face and curling up into a little ball.

_“What did you do to me, Costia?”_

 

* * *

 

They were moving too slow.

Way too slow.

Clarke knew they were trying their best, but it felt way too slow. Night was already about to fall and they’d barely made it ten miles; at this rate, winter would come before they’d even made it to the mountains.

“You’re worrying so much you look green.”

Clarke glanced at Raven. “Huh?”

“Stop worrying. We’ll get there.”

“Not fast enough.”

“We’ve come eleven miles today. We were prepared for eight.”

“I just don’t like the look of those clouds,” Clarke sighed. “How are the other groups?”

“Good, so far as I heard.”

“How far to the mountains?”

Raven shrugged. “Two weeks? It’s not bad. We’ll make it. We’ll cross the river today, and after that, it’ll be- well, not _fine_ , but…one obstacle less.”

Clarke knew exactly why it wouldn’t be _fine_. The river was the border of Azgeda territory – once they crossed it, they’d literally be in enemy territory.

“But the scouts came back telling us all was fine,” Raven assured her. “The camp site is ready for our group.”

“Octavia’s group has left already, then?”

“Earlier this morning, yeah.”

They weren’t moving in one big block. They were moving in groups of twelve, small enough that they could all hide quickly if needed. Clarke’s was the last. She’d insisted on being the last, on making sure the very end of the group made it. With each dozen passing through the way, the risk for being noticed grew – the last group, thus, was the most at risk.

That was why they had no children with them, or young parents, or elderly folk; they had young strong people, warriors and soldiers, those who were most fit to fight. They weren’t all soldiers, however – some were farmers – but they were all strong. The children and families had gone on in the first groups, but not the very first.

So far as what Clarke had heard, all those most vulnerable had already entered the tunnels in the mountains.

They’d had to change their plans to accommodate the change in Azgeda. There hadn’t been any chance they could have taken everyone all at once, not when the military presence in the plains had suddenly increased – and so, instead, they’d set off over the course of a few days. One group every four hours.

It had been a week from the first groups’ departure when Clarke’s group had finally taken off.

That, given the fact that they’d almost had to wait three weeks later than they’d planned on, had set her back on her schedule.

They’d now been walking for two weeks, and still had two weeks to go. It was getting warmer by the day, and the darkness was passing each night – but the wolves still howled in the hills far beyond when they settled down for the night, and in the mornings, they usually found paw prints closer to their camps than they would have liked.

One of the earlier groups had been attacked, and one had died.

They’d passed his body earlier that morning. Blood covering the patches of snow on the ground, his body practically frozen over the course of the night; it had made Clarke shiver. She hadn’t known his name, but she’d hoped his end had been quick.

She hadn’t known him, but she’d known his face.

Trikru, brown hair, green eyes.

She hadn’t ever looked at him more than in passing. He’d looked too much like her.

“There, the river-“ Raven sighed, relaxing visibly in her saddle. “Thank the skies.”

She wasn’t walking.

She wasn’t able to, not at their pace.

Thankfully, they’d had horses. Unfortunately for Raven, the horses had been needed for the scouts.

So she was riding a mule. And the mule wasn’t too cooperative at times.

The ice was already breaking further downstream, but where the water lulled in a deeper swell, it was still frozen. It was sixty feet across, and Clarke watched, chewing her lip, as everyone crossed it. One by one, they made it across, leading the pack mules and carrying their bags.

She crossed the river last, with Raven. Raven’s mule was already on the other side, waiting for her – but first, there was something she needed to do.

“Spring’s come early,” Raven smirked as she drilled a small hole into the ice and shoved a bit of dynamite in it. “Ready?”

Clarke nodded.

When Raven lit the dynamite, Clarke grabbed her and ran. She more or less picked her up, and ran off; Raven wasn’t able to run, anyway.

They’d just made it to the shore when it blew up. A loud bang, and cracks ran through the ice. Within moments, the cracks had shattered, the ice breaking apart, pushed further and more separate by the water underneath, suddenly released all at once. A minute later, the river was awash with free water and floating ice, the cracks racing their way further upstream where the ice would, in due time, also break.

“No one will follow us that way, now,” Raven giggled. “That was fun.”

Clarke nodded. “We need to keep going.”

“You look tired.”

“I’ll rest when we’ve stopped for the night.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa was, for a lack of a better word, lost.

Wandering without aim, really. She’d been walking north-west for two weeks, with no other plan other than to just get as far away from Polis and the battlefields as possible; she’d overheard conversation when she’d hidden by a road soon after she’d gotten free, and had quickly realized that the safest way for her to go was north.

It may have been that she was heading towards the south-western border of Azgeda territory because she’d heard a rumor.

She’d taken a risk one night and snuck into a roadside tavern. It had been cold, she'd found a few coins at the bottom of the bag; she had really just ached to sit still for one night, in a dry, warm space, with hot food.

Hidden in a corner, she'd hoped no one would recognize her, and kept her ears open.

It had been a secret tavern, anyway. For those who opposed Azgeda. So she barely stuck out from all the others covering their faces.

But she’d heard a rumor. Of Wanheda, hiding away in an old fortress in northern parts of Trikru territory, recruiting men and women for her cause.

She’d also heard another rumor about her running away.

It was a hunch at best, a foolish hopeful thought, but she’d set out for the fortress. She had nowhere else to go, really. Any direction was as good as any, and if there was a chance she’d find Clarke…well, she couldn’t pass that up.

She’d found the fortress within a week, but found it to be empty. But not as empty as it should have been; just by the look of things, she was sure there had been people there just days before.

Little had she known that Clarke had left the fortress just a week before she got there.

Thankfully, Lexa had always been good at tracking.

She wasn’t sure if she was tracking Clarke, but she sure hoped she was – in either way, she set off on the trail that she found, not really caring where she ended up.

She couldn’t walk fast. She was weak, she got tired after just three miles of walking, she needed to sit down after large hills to catch her breath. And, to add to that, she felt sick.

Whatever Costia had been feeding her, she was yet to recover from it. It didn’t help that she’d run out of food and was now relying entirely on what she hunted; though she had once been a skilled huntswoman, she was not at her fullest potential.

With hunger clawing at her stomach and exhaustion aching through her veins, she pushed on.

A week from leaving the fortress, she caught a glimmer of hope which lit a fire within her chest.

She’d stood on a hill, looking at the plains before her, feeling drained and lost; she’d been cold, tired, and just ready to give up.

But then, at the very point where the sky met the ground, she’d seen movement. She’d squinted, looked closer, and seen that what she saw was a group of people.

They were at least five days away from her, but her being so far up on what was essentially a mountain, she could see them. Or at least a small moving dot, too large to be a single animal.

It may have been nothing, but it was more than literally no sign at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise babeys here's a quickfire update

A week later, Lexa’s trail brought her to the shores of a river, flowing freely and rapidly, with no clear place to cross it.

She could see the footsteps in the snow on the other shore, she knew that was where she had to go – but, as the ice had broken down, she could not.

She camped there for the night. There were some pieces of wood scattered along the shore, and plenty of dry grass, and so she managed to make herself a small fire. It was a risk, but she judged it worth taking; she needed the warmth. She chewed on her last piece of food, savouring it, knowing well she didn’t know when she’d get more of it.

At least she had water. That was the bright side.

She slept for short periods of time that night. She didn’t feel safe in the open, but had no other place to hide; being alone and weaker than ever, she was more afraid than ever of sleeping outside.

If Clarke had gone willingly into the Ice Nation, she must have been mad. Or desperate. Lexa was sure of it. There was no other conceivable reason for crossing the river, none that she could think of – only desperation for survival with no other options, or pure madness. Possibly a little bit of both.

She was half convinced she was just trailing a group of Azgeda warriors. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop, either; she just had a feeling. A sense, an inkling at best; a tingling sensation at the base of her neck, in her spine, that told her that her heading was right. The trail was too messy to be left by warriors, and Azgeda warriors would never have crossed the river, not when their nearest city was just ten miles westward.

Lexa would’ve never been able to forgive herself if she’d given up on pursuing the trail and then found out it was Clarke after all. She could have never coped with that knowledge. She’d sworn herself she’d never betray Clarke again. And that, in her mind, meant never leaving her as well – she’d left her once, technically twice; she felt it was her duty to come back.

She just _had_ to find Clarke.

* * *

The next morning, she took a risk.

A massive risk.

There were pieces of ice floating along the river current, large ones; large enough to hold her up, she was sure of it. She’d spent a few hours observing the water, observing the ice, and come to the conclusion that she could, possibly, use them to cross.

There was a real chance she wouldn’t make it. But she knew she had no other choice. If she went more to the west, she’d risk running into Azgeda soldiers. If she went more to the east, she’d risk running into Trikru or Boat nation warriors. Lexa was sure Clarke, if it truly was her, had chosen this exact spot for it’s sheltered position; this was the least monitored part of the Ice Nation’s southern border.

She rolled her cloak up and put it in her bag, which she tied around her waist, made sure nothing was in her way; one knife she had strapped to her leg, the other she had in her hand. She could lose one, but the chances of losing both were very slim.

Determination was the only thing driving her forward. That, and desperation.

She waited a long while by the shore. Watched for a large  ice float, waited, prepared to jump – and then, did.

For a few feet, she skidded on the ice as the float under her rocked; for a moment she thought she’d fall, but she managed to remain on two feet. She waited a few breaths, and then jumped again, to a smaller float, this time falling to her knees; water splashed at her, and she gasped at how freezing it really was. The cold stabbed at her like a blade, pierced her breaths and caused her to tremble; she could only hope she wouldn’t fall in entirely.

She was pretty sure that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to get back out.

The current kept taking her further downstream, but she saw no other ice floats or pieces to which to jump. Only once she’d gone downstream a good half a mile did one come around, and she leapt at the chance, foot slipping on the ice as she pounced-

She only barely landed on the other float, stabbing her knife into the ice to keep herself on it as it rocked in the waves. The shore was so close, just a few feet, and so, before she had time to hesitate, she got up to her feet and jumped again. The ice had gotten wet, and it was beyond slippery as she cast off; but just barely,  _barely_ did she make it.

Her feet touched hard ground just an inch from the edge of the water, and she rolled over, groaning in pain and pure exhaustion as she came to lay on her side on the ground.

Her hair was wet, as were her boots.

She was shivering, too. With trembling hands she opened her bag and pulled out the cloak, throwing it around herself and relishing it’s warmth. For a good few minutes, she just laid there, breathing.

It had been the most she’d physically exerted herself in months, and she definitely felt like it too.

She was practically falling asleep.

It wasn’t till she started feeling the cold of the ground seeping into her that she got up.

She had a long way to go, and she didn’t even know if she was going the right way. 

But she kept on walking anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

The mountains kept getting larger every day.

They didn’t look real to Clarke. They were so tall and so jagged, and the thought that they were due to cross them felt impossible. And strange.

For a few days now, she’d felt strange.

It had felt like she was being followed. Like there was a pair of eyes staring at the back of her head, like there was a target on her back; it was unsettling to say the least. Everyone in the group seemed out of sorts, uncomfortable and anxious – they could already see the entrance to the tunnels. They were almost at their journey’s end.

All had gone a little bit too well.

Of course something had to go wrong.

She heard a crack behind them, like a foot falling atop a dry branch. Whirling around, she saw them, warriors with swords and bows at the ready.

An arrow was cast off, and Clarke just barely dodge it. Kieran, standing beside Clarke, wasn't so lucky, and fell with a strangled cry. 

“We’re under attack!” Clarke cried, glancing around. "Watch  _out_!"

She slapped Raven’s mule on the hindquarters before Raven had any time to complain. The animal let out a cry and ran off, Raven yelling curses as she tried to stop it. Clarke had a sword in her hand before anyone else did. She saw more of them now, the attackers, running towards them – the small gorge they were in wasn’t exactly the best place to shoot arrows in.

“Run!” she yelled to those up front, turning her back to them and facing the approaching soldiers. “For fuck’s sake, _run_!”

Not all of them did. Four stood by her, not running, but slowly backing away like she was; she wasn’t standing her ground, not just yet. She wanted to get closer to the mountain.

The entrance to the tunnels was barely a hundred yards away.

It was _so_ close.

But Clarke knew that if they let the soldiers come too near, all could be lost.

She needed to buy time.

She was no fighter. She’d never been good with a sword, but she’d gotten better. And she had a gun.

The twenty warriors coming at them didn’t know she only had six bullets in it. They were frightened, if only a little; but in no way did they hesitate as they ran at them.

Metal clanged and rang in the gorge as swords met swords. Strangled cries, the sounds of knives and blades cutting into flesh, the air was suddenly filled with the stench of blood and urine and guts; men and women were being cut down by the more skilled soldiers left and right, and Clarke nearly slipped in a puddle of blood as she tried to look back to see if Raven had gotten enough time yet.

“Back away!” came a yell from inside the cave. “Retreat! Fall back, Clarke!”

There were six warriors left.

Clarke couldn’t let them live.

One of the four who had stood with her had already died. The remaining two began running towards the cave’s entrance, obeying Raven’s orders. But Clarke, she did not.

She would rather sacrifice herself trying to guarantee no living soul heard of their escape than run and leave the warriors living and able to tell Nia what had happened.

She’d sworn to protect them.

And this was to protect them.

“Clarke, for the love of- _come back!”_

“Close the entrance, Raven!” Clarke barked back, her voice echoing in the hills. “Do it _now!_ ”

She could tell there was a moment of hesitation.

She knew Raven did not want to do it.

But she was a little bit too occupied to argue.

Five men remained, and they all stood a head taller than she.

“Little Wanheda,” one of them taunted, jabbing towards her with his sword, “A fine prize for our Heda, is she not?”

Clarke felt disgusted when he called Ontari their Heda.

She was not Heda.

She’d never be Heda.

For the briefest of moments, their attentions were drawn by a loud explosion from the mouth of the cave.

“What the-“

The element of surprise gave Clarke the chance to shoot one of them, directly in the head.

Her gun clicked and did not fire again, even when she tried.

She cast it aside, angry as could be; angry, and tired.

Exhausted beyond reason.

She wasn’t so sure what she was fighting for anymore. She’d done what she could. She’d seen them to the tunnels. The most dangerous part was done; now, all they’d have to do was get through to the other side.

She was done.

When the first sword struck, her hands shook when she parried it’s blow, so that the tip sunk into her side, drawing a wounded cry from her. Before she could react, a staff swept her legs out from under her feet, and she fell on her back, wind kicked out of her as a sword came to press at her throat.

“Stop fighting.”

She couldn’t get up, but she did manage to kick one of the men in the groin.

For that, she got a blow to the head so hard everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Lexa heard the explosion, too.

She heard the explosion, and the silence that followed, and her heart grew cold. It hadn’t sounded right.

The cloud of dust that had risen from the base of the mountain hadn’t looked right, either.

She’d hurried her steps after that.

The next day, she heard noises. It was so unexpected that at first she didn’t realize what she was hearing – she was still a good five miles from the mountain, the trail she’d been following was leading to it, not away; she somehow had forgotten, in her weeks of lonely trekking, that she could run into someone. The only people she'd thought of were those she was pursuing, and they were headed away from her; never had it crossed her mind that someone could be coming  _towards_ her.

When she realized this, she quickly ran across the creek and hid in a bush, determined not to show her face before she knew exactly what she was dealing with.

What she heard just moments later made her heart stop.

“Can someone else take her, she’s like a wildcat-“

“Your turn watching the blonde bitch,” someone else laughed.

“She bit me last night!”

More laughter. And muffled noises, like someone trying to yell through a gag-

And then they rounded the corner.

Lexa just about gasped when they did.

Four men, covered in blood. And Clarke, being dragged by one of them, while she tried to fight them off, despite appearing extremely weak. She was bloodied, too. Hurt, by the looks of it.

Lexa could barely breathe from the fury that struck her then. Clarke’s hands were tied, she was gagged, she was bleeding from a cut on her cheek and covered in cuts and bruises – she was fighting to get free, and she was so close, _so close_ , just mere thirty steps away…it took all Lexa had to not just run over.

She wasn’t strong enough to fight four men away at once. Not now.

She hated her weakness even more then than she had up till that point.

Darkness was falling.

That would help.

It was a worse torment than anything Lexa had known, having to sit there and watch. Watch Clarke curled up in a heap, as far away from the men as the rope binding her wrists allowed; shivering, possibly crying, clearly wounded. She was hurt, and Lexa couldn’t help her.

That just about tore her apart.

But as she watched the men make a fire and prepare food, she noticed they were paying little to no attention to Clarke. She did, she could barely tear her eyes away from her, and that’s exactly why she noticed Clarke rubbing her hands against a rock. No, not her hands – the ropes binding them.

_Oh, Clarke_ ¸ Lexa thought, heart swelling with pride. She watched her more intently than ever, trying to figure out a way to get to her; but, as she kept watch, she saw that Clarke’s attempt at getting free was successful.

Within the hour, the ropes were cut.

Clarke didn’t spring up immediately, though. She kept the cut ropes around her wrists, and laid still, as if waiting for the right moment.

Lexa wished she could’ve just…told Clarke she was there. That Clarke could’ve known she wasn’t alone.

_Soon_.

She had her knives ready. Whenever Clarke got up, she’d make her move.

It wasn’t till a few hours later that Clarke finally made a run for it. Only one of the men was awake, and when he went to the side to take a piss, Clarke ran.

She’d been wrong about the men being asleep. One of them managed to grab her ankle, and she fell to the rocks with a cry.

She expected hands to grab at her, or a sword to stab her – but there was nothing. Instead, there were strangled grunts and groans, and then, the sound of metal on metal.

She turned over onto her back and sat up quickly, blinking in the darkness as she watched a figure fight off her captors. One by one, the men fell. The hooded fighter was swift and quick, and Clarke could’ve sworn she recognized those moves – but she was so certain she was wrong that she was just left baffled.

Lexa’s fury had propelled her to strength she knew she really didn’t have. And so, when she’d stabbed the last man in the neck, she stumbled – she was spent. She was barely standing, barely even seeing right; all she wanted to do was sleep. She needed rest more than anything.

But first, she had to see Clarke. She had to see how Clarke was.

She turned around and rushed over, but froze when she saw terror spread across Clarke’s face, lit by the roaring fire behind Lexa.

“No,” Clarke muttered, scrambling backwards, “No, you- no, it can’t be you-“

She was almost panicking, trying to get up to her feet as she repeated those words.

“It _can’t_ be you-“

She stumbled when she stood up and took a few running steps, attempting to get away.

Lexa saw Clarke was weaker than she thought, and rushed over – before she knew it, Clarke had let out a sigh, and she only barely managed to catch her before she slumped against her, completely passed out.

Lexa fell to her knees, holding Clarke as close as she could, her heart in a million pieces.

Despite how good it felt to have Clarke in her arms, she hated to see her in pain. She loathed seeing her hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek as she pulled Clarke’s face up and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner-“

She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe, really; all she could do was hold Clarke as tight as she dared and hold back the tears, stroking Clarke’s face gently with her thumb as she mumbled apologies over and over again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I'm  _so sorry..."_

Her heart was beating a thousand times a second, that's what it felt like; she felt like she was panicking even though she had no reason to. She couldn't stop trembling, couldn't stop the tears, couldn't stop her thoughts from racing - she just  _couldn't_.

Clarke felt so small and limp against her.

And wet.

There was something wet against Lexa’s stomach.

She looked down, and paled when she saw blood. Now actually panicking, she stood up, half carrying, half dragging Clarke over to the fire – she couldn’t pick her up completely, though she wished she could.

By the light of the fire, she rolled Clarke’s shirt up, and felt sick when she saw the gash on Clarke’s side. It was deep, at least a day old, and was still slowly seeping out blood. Clarke had probably torn the gash open again when she'd fallen and then attempted to run. There was no bandage, no effort had been put into stopping the bleeding – it was a miracle, really, that Clarke hadn’t bled out.

Lexa wasn’t a healer, not really. But she knew plenty about treating wounds.

She had no clean cloths, and so chose her own shirt to rip up and bandage Clarke’s side up with. With one smaller piece of cloth, she wiped down the smaller cuts, but there wasn’t much more that she could do, not when it was dark. She wouldn’t be able to look for medicinal plants till morning, and she had none with her. She cursed herself for not picking any when she'd seen them; she'd been raised to always carry some, to never leave anywhere without at least a bandage and some herbs, and yet, the one time she needed them, she had none.

The bodies of the warriors she moved to the side after taking any items of use off of them. It disgusted her a little to take the shirt of one of them, but it was mostly dry, and warm, and she wasn’t going to die because she was lacking clothing and cold.

She chose one of their swords to keep, and found many other useful items too – a tinderbox, a fishing hook and line, and a spear, slender and light, for hunting use.

When she saw Clarke shivering, she wrapped her up in her own cloak, and took a coat from one of the men to wear for herself.

When Clarke continued to shiver, Lexa laid down behind her, and pulled her close.

She wasn’t sure if Clarke would have allowed it were she awake, but she was not. She would have died, really, had Lexa not warmed her up. She laid there, holding Clarke, but did not dare to sleep; she did not want to risk being snuck up on.

The fire kept her warm, as did Clarke’s body against hers.

And it was comforting, too, having Clarke there.

“I’m so sorry,” she kept whispering, kissing Clarke’s neck and shoulders whenever she could. “I should have come sooner.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke did not wake till the next afternoon. Lexa had managed to catch a fish from the river by then, and had kept the fire going, ensuring Clarke remained warm. She’d even found some medicinal herbs nearby, though she hadn’t dared to venture out too far – she couldn’t let Clarke out of her sight.

The helmet of one of the men had served as a boiling pot, and she’d made a paste from the leaves, spreading it onto Clarke’s wound in hopes of preventing infection.

She’d even boiled some more rags and hung them up in nearby branches to dry.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

For most of the day, however, she’d just sat by Clarke and watched her. She hadn’t wanted her to wake up alone.

Somehow, however, Clarke managed to wake up in the short moment when Lexa was out of her sight, picking up some more wood for the fire. Lexa could see her, but she herself was out of Clarke’s view – she, of course, didn’t realize that.

Lexa didn’t realize that Clarke was awake till she heard a quiet groan. Immediately when she did, she rushed back to the fire, too quickly - so quickly that she startled Clarke.

Clarke had thought the image of Lexa had been a dream, and so, having Lexa suddenly burst out of the woods towards her more or less shocked her to her core. She was weak, tired, and couldn’t think right because of the thudding headache she had, but she knew that what she was seeing _couldn’t_ be real.

“Stop haunting me,” she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away. “Go away, Lexa, you have to stop- I can’t take this.”

She was tired, her voice was small.

“Clarke.”

It didn’t matter that this time Lexa felt more real. Clarke couldn’t believe it.

She just…couldn’t.

“Clarke,” Lexa repeated, setting down the firewood and coming closer, “I- I’m here.”

“No, you’re not,” Clarke insisted, shaking her head as she sat back down onto a rock. “You- you’re dead…”

She flinched when she said that.

“I’m not, Clarke, please-“

“You’re dead, Lexa, I saw you die!” Clarke cried out, trembling as she brought her hands up to hide her face, sobs choking her up. “I saw you get shot, I saw you bleed out, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop it, I- I-“

She broke down in tears, and Lexa was left there standing confused. Confused, and hurting more than anything for Clarke.

It hurt that seeing her seemed to make Clarke hurt more. Lexa didn’t know how to fix that, had no way other than leaving – and that was the last thing she would’ve done. She would’ve done anything else in her power to fix Clarke’s pain, but not that.

She’d left her twice.

She wasn’t going to do it a third time.

“Clarke, please,” Lexa said again, taking a step closer but freezing in her steps when Clarke tensed up. “I’m not dead.”

She didn’t know what to do or say to convince her. She didn’t even dare touch her, she couldn’t even get closer than three feet to her without her tensing up as if she’d attack her.

She was afraid of her, that much Lexa could tell.

Lexa only wished she could stop Clarke’s tears and make her feel better. But she couldn’t.

She didn’t move away. She waited till Clarke’s tears subsided, and then, carefully, tried to talk again.

“Are you hungry?”

Clarke mumbled something which Lexa couldn’t hear.

“I…” Clarke sighed. “I need to go for a minute.”

“Don’t leave-“

“No, not like that, I’ll be back,” Clarke shook her head. “I just…I’ll be back.”

Lexa watched carefully as Clarke stumbled her way to the woods. She only averted her eyes for a moment, still listening intently for any cries or stumbling or falling sounds.

Clarke just stood by the trees for a while, leaning against one.

"I'm seeing things," she muttered to herself, not noticing her voice was slurring. "I'm...I'm seeing things."

She then threw up, once, twice; she really did not feel right. Her head was spinning, and she could only barely breathe for a moment. Her legs felt unable to carry her, and so it was by some miracle that she made it back to the fire.

When she sat down, Lexa offered her a cup.

“Drink.”

“You’re just a dream,” Clarke said quietly, but took the cup anyway.

She didn’t even ask what was in the cup.

It was some herbs boiled, meant to lower fever and help her to sleep with more ease. Her cheeks were pink, and she looked a little delirious. Lexa was almost certain she had a rising fever.

“Are you hungry?”

Clarke shook her head no.

Lexa didn’t push her luck. At least Clarke wasn’t crying and telling her to leave.

Soon enough, Clarke’s eyelids started drooping, and she laid down onto Lexa’s cloak, pulling the other cloak over herself as she fell asleep. She didn't say anything, didn't say good night; why would she have? To her, Lexa was nothing but a feverish dream.

“Sleep well,” Lexa said quietly, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s form as she watched her drift off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Clarke really expected Lexa to be gone when she woke up. But she wasn’t. She was the first thing Clarke saw when she woke up. She was shivering, freezing to the core, cold sweat on her forehead, and she was so confused- she felt awful, and didn’t understand why. She didn't know where she was, she could barely manage to form a single thought. 

She didn't even know what day it was, or how long she'd been asleep.

“You’re sick, Clarke,” Lexa said softly when she noticed she was awake. “You should rest.”

“I don’t feel good,” Clarke mumbled, pulling the covers more over herself. “I’m cold.”

Lexa was sitting cross-legged by her feet, gently poking the fire with a stick.

"Do you want to eat?"

Clarke almost retched at the thought, and shook her head.

“You should sleep some more, then.”

“Why am I in pain?”

Clarke didn’t see the pained look on Lexa’s face when she heard that.

“You were attacked,” Lexa said quietly. “And they- they hurt you.”

“Did everyone get to the other side?” Clarke mumbled, rolling over so she could look at the fire. "They closed it off?"

“I’m sure they did.”

Lexa didn’t know what she was talking about. But she assured her anyway.

She didn’t want her to worry.

There was silence for a long while.

“Am I dead?”

Lexa frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re...here.”

“Clarke, I…” Lexa sighed. “You’re not dead.”

“Then I’m dying,” Clarke yawned. “I don’t see you so often anymore, except in my dreams…”

In that moment, Lexa wanted to shake Clarke. She wanted to force the realization into her, that she was really _there_ – but she couldn’t. She was too scared to even touch her – Clarke seemed so fragile that any wrong move could have hurt or wounded her further. She had to let Clarke be for now. She was too delirious to understand anything, anyway. In time, she’d understand; Lexa would explain, and Clarke would realize that she was actually there – and all would be well.

That’s what Lexa hung onto, that specific thought. That eventually, Clarke would see her and not think she wasn’t real. Maybe it would be a day, maybe a few – but she would.

She had to.

And Lexa would wait. She had no intentions of leaving Clarke, not now, not ever; she’d wait.

For months, she’d dreamt of leaving to find her. And for weeks, she’d walked in search of a hunch, trudged through mud following a trail she wasn’t sure would lead her to what she sought after – but she’d been right, and now…she was here.

Nothing else mattered. Clarke was there. She was with her.

Her ache to kiss and hold Clarke could wait, for as long as it needed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they finally got back together!! well, sort of.
> 
> painfully cute, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to leave kudos and comments i crave validation


End file.
